


Beginnings

by someoneplsloverobbierotten



Series: Túnfí [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: (or he's getting one anyway), Canine OC - Freeform, Depression, Diagnoses, Dogs, Emotional Support Dogs, Gen, I gave Robbie a human friend too, Mental Health Issues, Robbie has an Emotional Service Dog, Service Dogs, discussion of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someoneplsloverobbierotten/pseuds/someoneplsloverobbierotten
Summary: To get a dog, Robbie has to come to terms with some things about himself.





	1. pamphlet

**Author's Note:**

> The story of how Robbie came to own Túnfí.
> 
> \------
> 
> Disclaimer: There is very little information that I can find about Emotional Service Dogs. The trust is completely made up, as is most of it's methods. Robbie's diagnoses in this fic are headcanoned by me and are not (confirmed) canon, and are not obtained through any proper means - essentially, none of this is how it works in real life, but I wanted to tell this story despite knowing full well that I don't have to the knowledge to really tell it properly, so a lot of the information/processes/procedures are probably wrong and I apologise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie is thinking about getting a dog; is that a good idea though? He acquires a pamphlet that might help his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The dog Bessie has is a Coton de Tulear)

There aren’t many dogs in LazyTown.

It makes sense, when you think about it; dogs need plenty of close attention and care, and require a great deal of exercise, which, funnily enough, people who live somewhere called _LazyTown_ aren’t too willing to do.

Ergo, any of the pets kept by the people of the town aren’t usually the canine variety. Cats are rather self-sufficient, and, with the aid of a cat flap, don’t require any exercise that the human has to take part in. Trixie has two in her house, Mrs Busybody has one, and _someone_ owns the kitten that keeps getting stuck in trees. The greedy kid has a cockatiel – that he’s taught to say ‘mine’ – and the one who likes taffy has a guinea pig (and also a goldfish when he was younger.)

The only people with dogs are Mrs Green, the lady who owns the grocers, has a surprisingly well behaved Husky and a Great Dane, and Mrs busybody, who has some sort of mini sheepdog. Busybody’s thing is barely a dog, so it doesn’t require much more than the walk to and from the Town Hall every day, which she walks anyway seeing as she’s the Mayor’s assistant, and Mrs Green’s two are huge but they have a literal field of a garden to run around in. Plus, her nephew takes both of them with him on his paper round every morning.

So no, dogs aren’t exactly a LazyTown pet.

The fact is though, that those other pets don’t give the same amount of… comfort, that other pets do. Cats are finicky at best and outright antisocial at worst, birds have sharp claws and beaks that they tend to use frequently and don’t particularly give comfort, and you can’t pet a fish. A rodent of some sort is okay, they generally like to be held, but not too much, and they tend to get lost.

So even though Robbie Rotten finds nothing more abhorrent than the thought of getting almost daily fresh air and exercise, he’s… seriously considering getting a dog.

He’s been thinking about one for a while now, truth be told, but these past few months have been… hard. Possibly a bit harder than usual. Perhaps a dog might make it better?

It might be a lot of work but it’ll be nice to come home from another failed experiment to something that actually wants to see him and is happy for him to be home. And it’d be good to have some source of comfort when he gets bad, even if it isn’t from a human. Perhaps it might even motivate him to get up and about when he gets like that. If he’s keeping something else alive, surely, he might put some effort into doing the same for himself, even accidentally?

Or it might make things so much _worse_. He’s barely functional to look after himself at times, never mind keep another creature living. The pressure to look after it whilst he’s in that state could have the exact opposite effect and make him panic and draw even further into himself. Then the dog would suffer for his inability. He doesn’t want to risk that. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he neglected an animal like that.

He weighs the pros and cons for weeks, mulling it over in-between schemes and naps. Eventually he decides; what the heck. It can’t hurt to take a look, right? He doesn’t have to take one then and there.

He takes a weekend off from villainy and takes a bus over to one of the bigger towns. He’d done a pretty big scheme the day before so if he doesn’t turn up for a couple now, no-one think it suspicious.

When he gets there, he searches around for a couple of the nearest shelters, bypassing the actual pet shops completely. They only ever sell puppies, and though they are incredibly cute and tend to give out a lot of love, Robbie is _not_ going to get a puppy. No way, no how. There’s far too much training, and he’s heard horror stories of puppies who were lovely at first but turned into terrors six months later.

If he’s getting a dog – if, _if_ , he’s getting a dog – then he’s going to get a _dog_. One that knows at least the most _basic_ of commands, is fully toilet trained, and isn’t going to have a major personality change a few months in.

The first shelter is pretty small. Rather cramped, but the animals themselves have a decent amount of room to move – there just aren’t a lot of them. There are a few cats lazing around in their pens, glaring at him as he walks by, and about ten dogs, the majority of which are mixes or mongrels. There’s a huge Golden Retriever sat at the end, which gets up and comes to greet him, tail a-wagging when he walks past, and a very pregnant Pitbull Terrier who’s lying happily in a slightly more padded cage on the end of the row.

She looks lovely, lifting her nose at him as he nears, but if he’s not going to take one puppy then he’s not going to take a whole unborn litter and the mother. Even the _thought_ of trying to handle multiple tiny puppies when on a bad week makes him start to panic, and he turns away quickly.

He’s having a really, really hard time keeping himself from envisioning a spindly moustache on the Retriever. None of the mongrels particularly jump out at him – figuratively or literally – but that’s fine. He’s only here to look anyway, and truth be told he’s still figuring things out. He really wasn’t expecting to bring anything home with him today, and leaves the shelter with a quiet nod of thanks.

The second shelter is bigger, housing dogs only, but he ends up never making it past the front desk.

There’s a small crowd of people in the main reception area, all sat in plastic seats in a semicircle around two women and three dogs. The women are both in bright yellow fleece jackets and seem to be mid-way through hosting some sort of talk session. Robbie hesitates for a moment, uncomfortable with the unexpected amount of people, but quickly makes a beeline for the person behind the front desk. If he can get into see the dogs relatively quickly he won’t have to interact with the talk at all, they might not even notice him. He explains – perhaps a little brusquely – what he’s doing at the shelter and the woman nods, asking him to sign a little sheet to keep track of visitors. Since he’s not actually looking for a dog to adopt right now, he doesn’t have to answer any questions or fill in forms about his living circumstances or anything, which means he can get in there even quicker.

He’s scrawling his name across the allotted space when the one of the women giving the talk starts speaking.

“Now this is Roxie,” he hears the woman say, “and she’s an Emotional Support Dog. One of the lesser known types of service dog, she’s specifically trained to help people with mental and emotional difficulties; such as those suffering from depression, anxiety and PTSD,” she says, and Robbie’s hand slips, sending a thick black line halfway across the sheet.

He freezes, listening intently to the woman’s words as he stares blankly at the sheet in front of him.

“ESDs don’t typically go through the rigorous training that other service dogs do,” the woman continues, “often having no formal training at all, but we’ve found that for those with mental or emotional difficulties, plenty of skills often taught to other kinds of service dogs – such as guide dogs and hearing dogs – are very useful. As there are no current providers for this kind of training, we’ve taken it upon ourselves. we’ve hired many dog training exerts, usually those already within the service dog field, and worked with them and multiple psychologists to come up with a set of skills that we can train our dogs, and for the past two years have been successfully training emotional support dogs for work with owners with depression, anxiety, PTSD and other mental health issues.”

Blinking, Robbie hunches over the clipboard and finishes signing his name, handing it back to the receptionist. She acts as though she didn’t notice Robbie’s weird behaviour over hearing the talk and smiles warmly at him, standing up to get a visitor’s badge.

Whilst she’s gone, Robbie shifts ever so slight. “Due to the personal and individual nature of the owner, each dog is trained to the owners specific needs.” She gestures to the dog at her heel; a red and white border collie who looks like she’s smiling. “Roxie here has been trained to help her owner, who struggles with depression. She’s been trained to offer grounding during dissociative behaviour and panic attacks, as well as wake up and meal reminders, and is also trained to pick up on when her owner needs general comfort.”

Robbie squirms where he stands, his fingers tapping against the reception desk.

When the receptionist comes back with the badge she discovers Robbie scratching his name off the visitors list. He looks up and flinches, caught.

“Change your mind?” she asks. She doesn’t sound annoyed, just curious.

“S– something came up,” he stutters out. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” she nods reaching under the desk and pulling out a thick yellow pamphlet. “You seemed interested, and it’s be a shame to miss the rest of the talk.” She says nonchalantly, handing him the paper.

Robbie nods and splutters some words that aren’t unkind, but aren’t actually a thank you either and hurries out of the shelter, stuffing the pamphlet in his pocket.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t read it until later that night, when he’s safely within the privacy of his lair.

He reads it back to front at least three times, head cradled in his hand, then shoves it in a drawer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Only after two weeks does he finally remove it from the draw. He hasn’t slept in over 20 hours, and there’s a grease mark on his bare shoulder. He’d been looking for a wrench and found this instead, staring at it for all of eight second before recoiling and throwing it back in the drawer.

A dog. What a stupid idea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eight weeks after that the pamphlet is removed from the drawer, re-read, re-read again, and then taped to the fridge.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning he calls the number on the back of the pamphlet, gets through two whole renditions of the dial tone and slams the phone back on its cradle, shaking.

The pamphlet goes back in the drawer.


	2. grocery shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie takes a trip to the grocery store and makes some friends of the canine persuasion.

One month later finds Robbie crying softly in the low light of the bunker. He hasn’t so much as _looked_ at a blueprint in over a week, and hasn’t appeared above ground in two. He’s cold, he’s tired and he’s lonely, but he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. He just wants to sleep.

He pulls his tiny blankie closer. It doesn’t cover anything, doing absolutely nothing for his physical comfort at all, but it makes him feel slightly better emotionally. Not enough though.

He just wants to sleep.

He’s too cold to sleep though, and too tired to get a better blanket. He can’t remember the last time he ate anything, and though he thinks a hot drink might be good right now, the effort required to make it makes him feel sick. He’s not thirsty anyway.

Maybe tomorrow he’ll feel better. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be able to come up with something to get the children to be lazy again, and he can go back up to the town and trick them all – maybe even get rid of Sportaspoon for good.

Maybe. Maybe he won’t.

He probably won’t.

He won’t come up with anything, he won’t even move, and then someone will come and try and look for him because he has been gone for a while now, and then they’ll find him down here, in this horrendous state, tired and useless and crying like a little baby, all alone in his lair. They’ll find him and– and do something; laugh at him, pity him, leave him. He can’t be sure _what_ they’ll do, but he hates all of the options.

Or they won’t come at all. He’s the town villain – they’ll be _glad_ if he doesn’t turn up tomorrow, if he never comes out of this lair _again_. Sportadoop will be glad, surely, he’ll have nice, happy active kids who can play and sing and be loud as much as they want.

Or maybe he won’t. Unless he’s doing something really bad, Sportacus always seems happy to see him. He always says hello and he always smiles at him.

Sportacus smiles at everyone but, still. It’s nice. Sometimes.

Most of the time.

Robbie looks over at the drawer. Sportacus would say that a dog is a good idea.

Sportacus hasn’t seen him in two weeks though. And he hasn’t come looking for him.

Robbie is so stupid. He’s the _villain_ ; Sportacus hates him. He’s just being polite. He’ll be glad if Robbie isn’t causing mischief for everyone else and stopping their fun.

Sportacus would be wrong about the dog anyway.

Robbie should never get a dog. He hates walking. He wouldn’t take care of it. He can’t even take care of _himself_. He hasn’t showered in days, he hasn’t eaten, and he can’t move. He’s sat in his lair and crying for no reason, and he’s been doing it for days. He’s pathetic.

The dog would hate him. Nothing likes Robbie.

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later and he’s back in LazyTown, dressed to the nines and trying to convince the children that they’re being rude by being loud all the time, and that polite little children are always quiet. Sportaloser comes along and ruins everything again, but the look on Sportakook’s face when he realises it’s Robbie in the fitted black tuxedo and pink embellished waistcoat, makeup beautifully sharp and perfect, makes today’s foiling pretty much worth it.

It makes him grin thinking about it now on the way to the grocers, the gobsmacked look on the stupid Elf’s face. He looked so silly, mouth open like that. Robbie knew he’s done well with his particularly well with his disguise today but he’d clearly done better than he thought if Sportamelon had been so shocked. Then again, his eyeliner had been insanely good today. He was pretty proud. The waistcoat had been excellent too, the pink glitter filigree he’d embroidered matching perfectly with his eyeshadow.

He walks into the grocers with a smirk on his face. The grocers is reasonably large considering the size of the town – that being, it’s about the same size as the inside of his own lair. It’s mostly fruit and veg, but also stocks general food stuff like eggs and cheese and flour, and also, most importantly, sugar and chocolate.

Mrs Green waves at him when he enters, and he gives a small wave back as he heads for the sugar. Her dogs, a Great Dane and a Husky, are sat in beds behind the counter, which has one of those swing-up panel entrances in it. the dogs are visible through the gap underneath, both watching him as he enters the shop.

He picks up two bags of flour, a big carton of eggs and some bars of chocolate; some dark ones too – he’s craving brownies. When he gets to the sugar shelf though, its empty.

He panics. If he can’t get sugar, he can’t make cake. He hurries over to the counter and both dogs sit up to watch as he puts down what he already has.

“Do you not have any sugar?” he blurts, bypassing the polite formality he would usually extend Mrs Green in his panic.

Mrs Green looks confused for a second, then gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Both dogs turn their heads sharply towards her, and the Husky starts to stand.

“Oh my!” she says, “I’m so sorry Mr Rotten, we do, we do.” There are two doors behind the counter, and she turns to slide the chain on the left one. “My usual helper – Jives, my nephew – is off sick today, he usually puts the Friday delivery out, I must’ve missed the sugar on his list.” She opens the door and turns to him. “It’ll be in the back, I won’t be a moment,” she assures him, then turns to the dogs and puts a hand out towards them, palm down. “Stay,” she commands, then hurries off into the back room.

No sooner has the door shut than both dogs have stood, ducking under the counter flap and ambling over towards him. Robbie freezes as the dogs park themselves by his feet. He’s never really been in contact with them before. Both dogs have pink collars on, covered with plastic daisies, but the Great Dane’s have yellow in the middle, whilst the Husky’s have pink.

“Hello…” Robbie says slowly, watching them warily. What do they want?

The Husky sniffs his left hand and he forces himself not to recoil, just in case it doesn’t like that, but the Dane has no such manners, shoving the crown of her skull into the palm of Robbie’s other hand. Robbie jumps, but the dog continues to press up, rubbing her head along the underside of his hand. She’s petting herself, he realises.

“Is that what you want, too?” He asks the Husky, who wags her tail as Robbie slowly stretches his other hand.

Within seconds, he’s giving both dogs vigorous scratches behind the ears, the two of them whining and thumping their tails on the ground with pleasure. The Husky leans up a bit, forcing his hand a bit lower into the ruff of fur around her neck and Robbie obligingly gives it a good scrub. The huskies tongue immediately lolls out the side of her mouth and she presses her side against Robbie’s leg – the Great Dane, not to be outdone, scoots closer to him on her bum until she’s practically sat on his foot as Robbie scratches at the base of her ear.

Mrs Green comes back through the door as Robbie is mentally wishing his show-stopping (or ‘sports-stopping’) suit a goodbye, since no amount of lint roll is going to get all the dog hair off. Robbie jumps, terrified at her sudden appearance, but the dogs don’t react in the slightest and continue begging desperately for scritches. Mrs Green stands behind the counter, crate of sugar in her arms, smirking at him with one eyebrow raised.

_“Well,”_ she says, “they’ve certainly taken a liking to _you_.”

“I– I–”

“Oh hush Mr Rotten,” she chuckles, “you’ve done nothing wrong. Judging by the speed of those tails, you’re doing something very right.”

Robbie blushes.

“Now how many of these sugar bags do you want.”

 

* * *

 

 

The dogs had whined when he’d finally pried himself away from them, even following him to the door.

Robbie couldn’t believe it.

When he got home, he packed away his purchases and got changed into his pyjamas, storing his suit in a disguise tube. It was a good one; if he ever managed to de-fur it he’d definitely keep it, maybe use it as a formal outfit if he ever needed one.

He sat in his chair and stared into space for what seemed like hours, his time with the dogs going round and round in his head.

He’d liked them.

They’d liked him. He’d been good with them.

He glanced at the drawer and then scoffed, wrenching his gaze away and shaking his head. Just because he’d liked them didn’t mean he should get one. He’d pet them for five minutes. Did that mean he was going to walk them and feed them? No.

It was a stupid idea.


	3. just a voice on the phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie has a conversation with someone. It's quite hard, but that doesn't mean it's bad. In fact, he might have even made a bit of a friend - a human one this time.

A couple of months and about twenty shopping trips later – more than needed, probably, but he’d been baking a lot for some reason, flying through his ingredient stores – he had the pamphlet in hand and was dialling before he lost his nerve.

His hands shook as he listened to the dial tone, the one not holding the phone clutching the furry fabric of his chair in an iron grip.

“Hello, welcome to The Central ESD Trust!” A cheery, clear voice came through the phone and Robbie jumped. “This is Jenny speaking, how can I help you?”

Robbie panicked. He hadn’t thought about what he’d say of he got this far, it had taken enough courage to pick up the phone and dial.

“Hello?” Jenny asked again and Robbie jumped, sputtering out a returning ‘hello’ a bit louder than he intended to.

“Hello,” he tried again, quieter this time. “I’m calling about– I heard that you.” He paused, gathering himself. “I’d like to know about… the process. For the dogs.” Wait, no, that wasn’t right. “For getting one,” he added.

“Ahh,” Jenny said understandingly, and he could practically hear a slow nod accompanying it. “You’re interested in getting an emotional support dog?”

Robbie flinched. “Yes.” He said shortly, after a small pause.

“Well Sir, the process usually begins with a small discussion over the phone, followed by an appointment with one of our trainers who will discuss things like breeds and what your personal needs are.”

Robbie made a sound. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he hoped it conveyed agreement.

“Don’t worry sir, there’s no need to be nervous,” Jenny assured him, “the phone part is only short. It’s just a couple of simple questions.”

Robbie covered the receiver and took a deep breath, then uncovered it again. “Okay.”

“Excellent. Well first, what’s your name?”

“Robbie- uh, I mean, Robin. Robin Rotten.” Ugh, it was so long since he'd had to give his full name for something, he almost forgot. Stuff like this would probably require it though.

“Okay Mr Rotten,” Jenny said, “we won’t get into breeds here, that comes with the face-to-face, but do you have any preferences for the size of dog? Big, medium, or small? It’s okay if you haven’t thought of that yet–”

“Big,” was his immediate answer. He couldn’t handle a little yippy thing, he just couldn’t. “Definitely big,” he said. “Or, uh medium.”

“Just not small?” Jenny asked wryly.

Robbie felt his face grow hot. “Ah, no.”

Jenny laughed, “don’t worry about it, they’re not for everyone. My sister has a Chihuahua. I like her, she’s a good dog, but I wouldn’t trade my Collie for her.”

Robbie snorted, relieved she understood and hadn’t been offended, and Jenny chuckled.

“Well that leads us onto the next question, do you have a house suitable for a big – or medium – dog? They tend to need lots of space in the house – or at least a big backyard, though preferably both.”

Robbie grimaced. “I don’t have a backyard,” he admitted, “but my- uh, apartment, is very large. It’s... open-planned.” Wait, of course! “And the town I live in has a lot of parks and unoccupied fields. There’s one right next to me in fact.”

“Oh!” Jenny seemed pleasantly surprised – well that’s the next best thing I guess, just as long as you’re not violating any trespassing laws.”

“I’m not,” he assured her. He didn’t even think that was a lie; LazyTown never really bothered with trespassing rules and things like that. Everyone was free to go pretty much everywhere. Unless it was an in-use field, he was fine.

“Good, good. Do you have any other pets?”

“No.”

“Children? Big or small.”

“Definitely not.”

He heard Jenny stifle a laugh. “Alright, last question then. It’s blunt,” she said apologetically, “but I have to ask. What emotional or mental problems will the dog have to be trained for? You’ll have to bring actual proof of these diagnoses to the face-to-face of course, but for now it’s just a quick description.”

Robbie froze. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh _no_.

“Mr Rotten?” Jenny asked into the silence

Robbie couldn’t say anything.

“You, um. You have been diagnosed, haven’t you?”

He was so, so stupid.

“I- no,” he whispered, ashamed. “I haven’t. I’ve wasted your time. I didn’t think – I apologise for keeping you.” He said stiffly, and went to put the phone back on the cradle.

“Mr Rotten! Sir, wait!”

Robbie paused, phone poised over the cradle as he listened to Jenny shout through the phone. He slowly brought it back up to his ear. “Yes?”

“Sir – Robbie.” She sighed. “Look, this isn’t really um, _place_ , I guess, but I don’t think you would have called for an ESD if you didn’t think you needed one, for some reason. So, uh, why don’t you tell me _why_ you thought an ESD was something you felt you wanted, or needed, instead?”

Robbie was quiet. She sounded nervous though, clearly afraid to offend and pry to much, and she’d been nothing but friendly and polite so far.

“Mr Rotten? I’m sorry if that was overstepping, I–”

“No no!” Robbie hurried to say, “it’s… fine, it’s fine.”

It was over the phone. It was over the phone. This was just a voice. A voice who was nice and kind and had been able to joke with him. She might understand a little. And he could always put the phone down.

“I have… bad weeks,” He said quietly. “I don’t sleep anyway really, but sometimes a don’t sleep at all for a long while. I forget to eat. Sometimes I manage to work, but I get too into it. Far too into it.” This sounded so pathetic. He felt like such a baby. He needed a carer, not a dog. “I– I panic, sometimes. And then I don’t stop panicking.”

“Okay,” Jenny said, very calmly. “I’m not a psychologist, but can I ask one more question. Before I suggest something?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do in these ‘bad weeks’? The ones where you don’t work, that is. I’m guessing those ones are different.”

Cry.

“ _Nothing_ ,” he breathed. "I can’t do anything, I can’t make myself move most of the time. I don’t sleep.”

“Alright. Thank you Robbie. It’s not my place to ask, really, and it’s difficult to tell a random stranger these things – especially when this kind of thing makes it seem like a test.” She sounded genuinely sorry and sympathetic.

It wasn’t as horrible as Robbie thought it would be. He didn’t want to be pitied, he couldn’t bare it.

Jenny took a deep breath, and there was a slight shuffling sound down the phone. Paper, perhaps. “If you haven’t been diagnosed with anything before now then I would highly suggest going to see about that,” she told him gently, “but I– um, this process usually just has one type of appointment where you discuss the dog, but I can also suggest having an extra initial appointment, so to speak. The trust has employed and consulted with many mental help professionals to help with deciding the trading for the dogs, I could set up an appointment with one of those for now, and you could talk to them. They probably won’t be able to give you any official diagnoses, but they can start the ball rolling and cut out a lot of middle men since they’re already in the industry.”

Robbie thought it over. He never spoke to anyone about this stuff, and he’d never gone to a doctor for a reason. Mostly denial if he was honest, but… other reasons too. If he went to an appointment with the trust them he could see if it was worth it or not to see a professional. He probably wouldn’t see a professional, but he’d know.

“…Can I have the appointment with the trust?”

“Of course,” Jenny said warmly. “I’ll set something up. Do you have a contact number I can call you back on?”

“Sure, I’ll give you my cell.” Robbie rattled off the number and Jenny took it down. He barely used his cellphone for anything except the internet, but it meant it was on hand all the time so he thought he’d give her that instead of his landline.

“Thank you,” Jenny said. “Oh, one last thing, we have quite a few consultants working with us, would you prefer a male or female doctor?”

“Female,” Robbie answered immediately. That might’ve sounded creepy, so he tacked on a pathetic “please,” on the end. He didn’t mean it like _that_ , just… he couldn’t have a man do it. He didn’t care if they were a professional, he couldn’t have a man know this about him.

“Okay, good, good.”

He could hear Jenny write something down.

“I think I’ve got everything then,” she said, the chipperness back in her tone. “I have a chat with a couple of the consultants and get back to you, alright? It won’t be long, I promise.”

“It’s fine,” Robbie told her. “I’m in no rush.”

“That’s good,” she chuckled, “I’ll still try and get it done quickly though.”

“Thank you,” Robbie said. He could hear her hesitate on the other end of the line and he guessed that the slight softness in his tone had given away that he hadn’t just been talking about her promise of speed.

“You’re very welcome Robbie,” she said gently. “I’ll call you soon with news of the appointment, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Have a nice day Robbie, it was really nice talking to you.”

Robbie smiled. It sounded like she meant it. “I– you too. It was nice, you were um, very helpful,” he said lamely. and

“Thanks Robbie,” she laughed. “Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.”

“Bye bye!” she said, and then there was the sound of the hang-up tone.

He set the phone carefully back in its cradle and sat in his chair for a few minutes staring at it, a million thoughts running through his head. He’d have to talk to someone about this, about _him_. It had been hard enough telling Jenny, and she was a relative stranger over the phone. This would be face to face.

The thoughts made his stomach roil and clench uncomfortably so he stood and went to make himself some coco. Jenny was nice though, and she seemed to know the people he would be speaking to. Still. It was speaking to _someone_.

Robbie curled up on his chair and sipped his coco, thinking hard.

 


	4. appointment preperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie makes an appointment and prepares for it. There's a lot to think through, for him.

 Robbie woke two days later to the sound of his phone ringing. Reaching out blindly, he fumbled for it and managed to grab it before whoever-it-was on the other end gave up, smushing the receiver against his cheek.

“Hello?” Someone said on the line.

“…Mph?” Robbie managed, not even close to awake.

The person on the other end of the phone paused. “Robbie?” They asked hesitantly, “It’s Jenny, from the Trust?”

_Jenny?_ Suddenly Robbie was very awake. Oh no. Oh _no,_ what time was it? He looked wildly around the lair for a clock, finding a half-dismantled one over on one of his work countertops that told him it was almost 11am.

“…were you asleep?” She asked, worry clear in her tone. “It’s alright if you were,” she hastened to assure him, “God I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up!”

“No, no,” Robbie blurted, waving his free hand even though she couldn’t see it. “It–  it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I can call back later if–”

“No, honestly,” he told her, “it’s fine.” It really was. Being woken up now meant that he could get something done if he stayed awake after this. He didn’t know _what_ , exactly, but he was sure he had something that needed finishing.

“Well if you’re sure…” Jenny sounded uncertain but she pushed on anyway. “I was calling about the appointment.”

“Oh!” Robbie squeaked, “That was, um, quick.”

Jenny laughed little, “Thanks, I have a really good friend in the Trust and I managed to speak to her last night. Her name is Marsha, and she works with us at the Trust as a consultant on Mental Health. I was speaking to her last night and she agreed to take on your appointment when I explained the situation,” she explained. “I, um. I didn’t go into detail, particularly. S’not my place. But anyway, she’d like to take you up on that appointment if you’re still interested?”

Robbie was quiet for a moment, thinking it over, and Jenny picked up on his hesitation.

“It’s alright if you change your mind, you know.” She said softly.

Robbie let out a heavy breath. He actually felt like Jenny meant that. “I am,” he told her, “I am still interested.”

“I’m glad.” Jenny said. He could hear the smile in her voice. “I promise you Robbie, Marsha’s really nice. That sounds a bit, well, lame, but she is!”

Robbie snickered.

“Hush up, I said it was lame,” Jenny told him, chuckling. “Appointment-wise; she works with us at the Trust on Tuesdays and Thursdays – and Saturdays if need be, but I can’t guarantee that I’m afraid, so just the first two options.”

He briefly went through his plans for next week. He had a couple of concrete schemes in the works, and another couple of ones that were still in the idea-tossing stages. None of them were really time specific.

“Either. Tuesday?” Better get it over with. Less days to wait meant less time to lose his nerve.

“Tuesday’s fine. The appointment will be at the Trust if that’s alright? Or at least start there, I suppose. I can give you the address.”

“That’s fine, let me just go get a bit of paper.” He set the receiver down on the chair when she gave him the okay and quickly went to retrieve something to write on, scribbling down the address Jenny gave him when he returned.

“Now, times,” she said. “She’s only around until early afternoon – around 2ish – on the Tuesday so… it’s going to be a reasonably early appointment. About 11:00am? Or 11:30.”

“11:30” he answered immediately.

Jenny snorted down the phone but it was a bit muffled, he guessed she’d tried to cover the other end of the receiver.

Whilst 11:30am wasn’t too early for most, almost lunch time after all, with his sleep schedule it kind of was. Plus, he’d have to get an early bus to get to the Trust. He’d have to get up at half 8 at the latest.

“Excellent, I’ll let Marsha know it’s 11:30 then.”

“Alright.”

“By the way,” Jenny added, “Those of us in the Trust who have dogs ourselves sometimes bring them with us, since the Trust is mostly based in fielded areas, and socialisation between the animals in training is important. I’m telling you this because Marsha has two dogs; Dixie and Jim, and she _did_ mention that she would likely be bringing one of them with her – she wasn’t certain which. Would that be a problem, if a dog was there?”

“I um, I don’t think so, no,” Robbie told her.

A sigh of relief crackled down the speaker. “Good, good – it would’ve been fine if no, don’t worry, but I think it would help to have a dog there. They’re not objects, obviously, but they do make great ice-breakers. And they’re very of comforting. Which… could be useful for this, uh, conversation.”

Robbie had to silently agree. Apparently, Jenny had picked up on the fact that he really, really hated talking about this.

“Whichever of them turns up, you’ll like them,” she assured him. “They’re lovely dogs, really. Dixie’s a sweetie and Jim is just a big soft boy.”

Robbie grinned. “That’s good.”

“If you need anything else, just ring,” Jenny told him. “You can ask for me if you want – just ask for Jenny okay, I work four days a week; Tuesdays to Thursdays, and then on Saturdays too.”

“I will,” Robbie nodded. Jenny was easy to talk to and she’d been very nice to him so far. If he didn’t end up needing help, he probably _would_ call her.

“Alright!” she chirruped. “I hope you don’t have too hard a time with this, I know it’s difficult.” His told him. “Heck, try to have a _good_ time if possible!”

Robbie smiled, the anxiety simmering in his stomach settling a bit. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Jenny said. “Remember, call me if you need anything – Tuesdays to Thursdays and Saturdays, ‘kay?”

“I know.”

“Bye!”

Robbie quietly said goodbye and put the phone down on its cradle. Picking up the little slip of paper with the address of the Trust on, he wrote down the days Jenny said she was working and then got up to make himself a cup of coffee and have a shower.

  __

* * *

 

 

After his shower, Robbie had made a cup of tea and gone straight to his drawing board to start setting up the groundwork for a scheme; planned specifically for the day before his appointment. That way, when he disappeared the next day his absence wouldn’t be noticed by Sportaloon or the kids. They couldn’t know about this.

It was also useful for the days after. If this appointment was… difficult or shook him up, so to speak, staying down here to wallow and recover wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. He often didn’t appear for a few days after a failed scheme, so his behaviour wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary.

This one would have to be pretty generic, unfortunately. He couldn’t be sure if the kids would do anything specific that day, and he had to make sure everything would be adaptable if they did – particularly his disguise. Therefore, he made everything centred around a machine instead of the disguise and set to work designing. He worked on the planning for most of the day, ensuring that the machine he designed would be very effective, but also very simple. The more ‘generic’ he could make it, the better, then it could fit with whatever he was wearing. he could be a cow or a doctor or even an estate agent and the machine could still be used as part of the disguise. It meant that his disguise could be more ‘spur of the moment’ than anything else, and he could base it completely on what the kids were doing. Perfect.

Once the planning was done and the blueprints for the machine was finalised, he took a short nap. He hadn’t intended for it to be short, but then he woke up at 4am and thought, well, he was awake so why not get it done now? He worked on building his machine until well into morning the next day, downing coffee like it was going out of style and the occasional cup of tea and eating cake and some leftover sweet buns he’d made the other day.

After that he collapsed in his chair and slept for 11 hours. Then he woke up, went to the loo, had half a cup of cold tea, ate the remainder of the sweet buns, and fell asleep again for another six hours. He managed to get the machine done another couple of hours or so after that, just in time for the scheme to take place.

 

* * *

 

 

On the day of his appointment, Robbie was out the door before eight.

His plan had been a success – well, no it hadn’t; his scheme had been foiled after half his disguise fell off after lunch due to a small explosion – but he had a solid excuse for his absence for the next couple of days if he needed them.

He’d come home to his lair unharmed and, considering he hadn’t succeeded with his actual scheme, pretty happy. That hadn’t lasted for long because no matter what he tried, he couldn’t sleep. He managed to get a grand total of three and a half hours. By six o’clock he decided _‘screw it,’_ and got up properly, feeling gritty and sore and awful.

At least not sleeping most of the night meant that getting up early to travel the couple of hours to the trust was easy. And it meant that not only would he almost definitely not be late, but he also had plenty of time to get ready too. He stripped off his nail polish, had a shower to try and make himself feel a bit better and a bit more human, did his hair and got dressed. After downing a cup of coffee, he was out of the lair by 7:45am.

He had plenty of time to get to the trust, so he stopped off to get some more coffee on the way – one of those froufrou drinks with a dozen shots of caramel and espresso and all that sugary, caffeinated good stuff. He even treated himself to extra whip, because he had the time and because this was very likely going to be a hard day no matter what, so he felt like he deserved it.

Hopefully drowning himself in coffee would stave off the majority of his exhaustion until much later, when he was back home, and keep his… grump levels to a minimum during the appointment.

He’d brought a travel mug with him too, so when he finished his first coffee, he went back to the counter and asked them to fill that; this time with just plain coffee. He added sugar and some milk, screwed on the top, and went to catch his bus.

The bus ride was long, as he knew it would be, but he enjoyed it. It was peaceful watching the scenery go by, and it helped relax him. It also gave him time to think. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the appointment, his fears and nerves could turn that train of thought to something very ugly very fast. When it all got a bit too much, he brought out the tiny, ancient mp3 player he’d brought with him and plugged in his headphones. Selecting what he wanted to listen too, he sipped at his travel mug and sat back to watch the world go by.


	5. meeting marsha (and jim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie meets Marsha (and Jim) and gets a hot chocolate whilst he find out a little bit more about the nature of his appointment.

According to the pamphlet, the main site for the Trust had originally started out as two joined old farms and a farm house all purchased as one package, almost 2 miles from the nearest big city. It had since gone on to accumulate 23 of the surrounding fields and 25 acers of nearby forest.

As such, there wasn’t really a bus-acceptable entrance. The nearest he could get by bus was a kilometre down the main road, which he then had to walk. A car would’ve made everything much easier, the entrance road to the Trust joining straight onto the main road, but he didn’t own one, and he hadn’t driven – successfully – in years.

When he finally got to the entrance of the Trust he almost cried with relief. The walk wasn’t unpleasant, being on quite a scenic forest-y track, but he still could’ve done without it _jeez_.

The entrance was marked by a pristine sign in front of a ridiculously old looking farm gate, underneath which was an _awfully_ muddy looking track. Robbie shuddered. Jenny had advised him to wear wellies and wellies he was wearing, and he was suddenly very glad he had.

Tucking the satchel he’d brought with him a little closer, he took a breath and plodded through the gate.

His satchel was brown and leather, but it didn’t actually have anything in it, not really. It only had his mp3 player and headphones, his now empty travel mug, and some sheets of paper and pencils in case inspiration struck whilst he was out. The satchel’s main purpose was to make him look more professional and less of a… well, less of a mess. He even forgone his usual outfit to help perpetrate that illusion. He’d dressed in a proper, black button up shirt with a purple and grey jumper over the top, a pair of black pants and a nice brown leather belt, along with his best dark grey peacoat. He hadn’t brought his glasses, trying to keep he balance between person-with-his-life-together and utter dork.

The look didn’t go so well with the wellies, though they _were_ also purple (with a black trim), but he was making it work. The peacoat and satchel were a particularly good combination, he thought.

The main farmhouse for ‘guests’ – or ‘customers’? Robbie wasn’t sure what the proper term was –  had been renovated to look slightly more modern than the secondary one, which he’d seen across the field on his way in. This one was painted white and when he went inside, was decorated with a weird. modern kind of ‘country chic’. It was odd, but not unpleasant.

It was quiet inside, only one person working at reception. The person was male. That was unfortunate. It would’ve been nice to see a friendly face. (Well, hear a friendly voice.) It also made him a bit nervous to go over and speak to them. He didn’t have time to pluck of the courage though – nor did he need to, it turned out – because a tall woman with a dog at the heel of her classic olive-green wellies came in through the front door and called his name upon seeing him.

“Mr Rotten?”

“Um- yes?” Robbie blurted.

She had an umbrella with her, a ridiculously huge thing in a deadly bright shade of yellow, and was struggling to contain it as she walked over to shake his hand.

He did so, trembling, and she immediately took notice and smiled softly at him. “I’m Marsha,” she said, gently releasing his hand. “Marsha Freidman.”

Robbie busied his freed hand by fiddling with the strap of his satchel. “It’s um, nice to meet you,” he offered. “T– thank you for seeing me.”

“You're welcome.” She smiled brightly at him and gestured to her dog, sat happily at her side. He had one ear – the left – stuck up and the other down. He was mainly white, but he had a couple of large, irregular light grey splotches on him, most noticeably a large one on his back and a large circle over his left eye. There were smaller spots over the rest of his back and on his legs, and his entire left ear was light grey too, as well as the tip of his tail. The shape of his nose reminded him a little bit of English Bulldog, though it wasn’t quite as large as that. A similar shape though.

“This is Jim,” she introduced.

“Hello Jim,” Robbie said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

Jim’s tail thumped against the floor and Marsha chuckled. “Right, I thought we’d go to the staff room? Today’s a quiet day and even though the staff building’s a bit older, we do have a very modern, very good coffee machine.”

“Y– yes!” Robbie sputtered. “That’s fine, that would be, um, nice; thank you.”

“Excellent,” she grinned, “c’mon then.”

He followed her back out the door and across the field, Jim trotting happily beside them. The second building was painted a nice, pale shade of green and a little shabbier than the other, but still nice. She opened the door for him and smirked when he wiped his feet on the mat. He didn’t get why until he saw Jim doing the same thing.

He paused, staring until the dog had finished. He looked happily at Robbie, who gaped.

“Good work, Jim.” Marsha praised, and the dog went to join her back at her heel. Robbie snapped his mouth shut and hurried to follow when they set off again. She led him down a short corridor, also painted green, and through to a cosy looking little room with a kitchenette taking up one half and a vast amount of sofas, chairs and dog beds taking up the other.

Jim immediately made a beeline for the one neared the fireplace and Marsha sighed.

“Well, guess that’s where we’re sitting.” She turned and gestured over to a very shiny, very complex looking coffee maker. “You want anything? This thing does, like, 100 types of coffee – fair warning though, I only know how to make about six – as well as hot chocolate and hot water for tea.”

As good as the coffee sounded, he’d already ingested way too much caffeine in an effort to keep awake. He didn’t want to be actively _wired_ for this. Plus, he would never ever pick coffee over hot chocolate unless he was about to die from caffeine withdrawal.

“Can I- can I have a hot chocolate please?”

“Sure.” She busied herself with the machine for a moment, turning dials and flicking switches, before pulling out two mugs from under the counter. “You can have Jenny’s mug, since she’s not here today.” Jenny’s mug had a picture of a sunshine on it and a black sheep. It was cute. Robbie smiled at it and nodded, and Marsha put it on the grate under the machine alongside her own mug; one shaped like a bee-hive. There was even a fat little ceramic bee on the handle.

Whilst the machine did its thing, Marsha gestured them over to the chairs near Jim. Robbie sat down whilst Marsha removed her coat and set it over the chair. She had on an interestingly patterned orange and white jumper, some olive jeans. She’d really gone whole hog on the olive theme today, her coat was olive too.

Robbie copied her and shrugged off his peacoat whilst she combed the kinks out of her long, brown ponytail.

He placed the satchel by his feet, regretting it instantly. He couldn’t fiddle with it now. Marsha came back in with the mugs so it was too late to pick it back up. He could maybe fiddle with the mug, but the only way was to tap and that was too loud

“Thank you,” he said, holding the hot mug as carefully as he could with two hands. He didn’t want to leave one free in case he did something weird with it, so he kept one hand wrapped around the handle and the other lightly curled around the rim.

She smiled at him, and he thought he detected a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You’re welcome.” She settled down in the chair opposite, and Jim shuffled over slightly so he could put his nose near her boot. She snickered at him, half in the dog bed and half out.

She smiled down at him before looking back up at Robbie. He immediately clenched his teeth. Here it came.

“Look, Robbie,” she said. “I’ll be honest with you. I can’t give you an official diagnoses here no matter what, okay? This isn’t a real doctor’s appointment – though I _am_ a real doctor.”

He did understand. Jenny had already made sure that he’d known that when she told him about the appointment over the phone, but he was glad Marsha had told him again. He appreciated her honesty and it was good to know that she wouldn’t have let him keep any false impressions about what the appointment was about.

“Thank you,” he said, and she nodded.

“Think of me as a trial run; practice for the real deal,” she told him.

That… that actually made sense.

She seemed to see the understanding on his face. “I hoped that might make things a little easier for you,” she said, smiling, “maybe not necessarily the speaking part, since actually telling someone things like these is still a ridiculously difficult thing, but it might take some of the pressure off in your mind, at least.”

She took a sip of her drink. “It’s a bit of an odd appointment, I know, but essentially what I’m going to try and do is sort of a… preliminary diagnosis.” She winced. “I know I said before I _can’t_ give you a diagnosis and I meant that, I just _really_ can’t think of another word to call this.”

Robbie let out a little huff of a laugh. He got what she meant. “That’s fine,” he told her, “I get it.”

“Good,” Marsha said, relieved. “Basically we’re going to discuss some things, and I’m going to try and work out what’s what, so that if you do want to take this further and actually get properly diagnosed, I can refer you to a doctor with some ideas of what you might have. You can go with the foundations already in place, as it were, instead of handing the doctor an empty blueprint.”

Robbie bit back a grin at the comparison, trying to keep his expression serious. “I’ll have somewhere to start,” he said.

“Exactly,” Marsha nodded. “Then the doctor will already have an idea of what they’re looking for. They won’t have to spend ages going through a list of questions so that they can discount a bunch of stuff. You’ll be a step ahead in the diagnoses; it’ll be less time for you and the doctor and hopefully make things less stressful for you – even if only a little bit – since I’m gathering you really, really don’t like talking about this stuff.”

Robbie’s expression said it all, apparently, because Marsha gave him a very sympathetic look as she took a sip of her drink.

“It’s difficult,” she said, when she lowered the mug. “It’s hard telling a complete stranger all this personal stuff, especially when a lot of it is different from the norm. It’s… it’s not fun to tell someone what’s ‘wrong’ with you, essentially.”

“No,” he said quietly, staring into his mug. “It’s not.”

“Well I’m not here to judge you, if you’re worried about that. And for the record, I think you’ve done really well already.”

Robbie looked up at her, confused.

“It shows a lot that you agreed to this at all,” she explained, “let alone come here. And I think you did really well with Jenny. I know you didn’t tell her a lot, but you told her something and that’s really good. It’s a good first step. Plus, it might not have seemed like a lot, but what you told her gave me some good starting points.”

He did? He’d told her some things, yes, but he’d been _incredibly_ vague when he had and he knew it.

“Don’t worry; Jenny didn’t tell me all that much about you. Mainly because she felt that she shouldn’t; she didn’t want to betray your privacy.”

Robbie nodded, very thankful. That was sweet of her.

“I didn’t ask her to elaborate, either,” Marsha told him. “I want to hear it from you, if you’re willing to tell me.”

Robbie was willing. He wouldn’t like it, and he knew that – as did Marsha – but he was willing to try. He nodded slowly, raising his head even though he couldn’t quite make himself make proper eye contact. “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (don't even _ask_ what dog jim is lol bc i have no idea, he just _is_.)


	6. difficult starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie starts a difficult discussion. Luckily, he's got Jim and a nice cup of hot chocolate to help him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long :( i didn't expect this chapter to be as hard to write as it was; i've actually had to end up sort of spitting it in half too!
> 
> warning for discussions of mental health, as vague as they are. (not sure what specific warnings i can give here?) the... method, i guess, is probably complete bull; it's been a long time since i've been in a therapy related scene and my memory is awful so i apologise for that too - might be a bit much to claim 'creative licence on this one!
> 
> enjoy anyway - and, again, sorry for the long wait!

_Robbie was willing. He wouldn’t like it, and he knew that – as did Marsha – but he was willing to try. He nodded slowly, raising his head even though he couldn’t quite make himself make proper eye contact. “I am.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“I am.”

“I’m glad,” Marsha told him, drinking a mouthful of her coffee.

Robbie mirrored her, taking a sip of hot chocolate to calm his nerves.

The two of them had a few moments of silent drinking before Marsha gave Robbie a small nod and a soft smile. “Alright then,” she said, “I’ll start with a simple question, if that’s alright.”

Robbie just nodded, taking another sip of his drink.

“How did you sleep last night?”

The tone was gentle, no demand or judgement in the question whatsoever but Robbie froze upon hearing it, hands clenched around his mug. He stared at the chocolate inside it for a while.

“I– I– I didn’t.” He eventually admitted. “Not really.”

“I thought not. You look exhausted.”

Robbie winced. He'd forgone makeup today just in case she hadn't approved. LazyTown was apparently very open minded, but other people and places weren’t. He'd applied as much concealer and foundation to the circles under his eyes as possible before it became obvious he was wearing any, but that was all he'd allowed himself. It obviously hadn't worked.

At least, whilst blunt, she hadn’t meant it meanly; more of a sympathetic ‘I’m just calling it like a see it’ kind of tone, which he could appreciate.

“How much did you get?”

Robbie sighed. “’Bout three hours. Little bit more.”

“Is that an average night for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“How much do you usually sleep – or does it vary?”

“I– it varies. Sometimes I sleep a few hours, sometimes I sleep fourteen straight, sometimes I don’t sleep at all.”

“Do you have… nightmares or anything like that, things that would wake you up or disturb your sleep?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are they recurring? The same one, or same type of thing.”

Robbie nodded. He stared into his hot chocolate a while, curled in on himself. “Sometimes,” he repeated.

Oh, oh _no_ , he was falling into a spiral. _Already_. He wanted to tell her more than just one word answers – the same word at that – but he couldn’t. he was clamming up. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at Marsha. She was trying to help him, and look what he was doing. He was being so unhelpful – this early, too! Ugh, he felt so ashamed of himself.

Something pushed against Robbie’s foot and he startled, looking down. Jim had turned around in his bed and had his snout resting on Robbie’s foot, little pink and black nose pushed up into his leg.

Remembering what Jenny had said about dogs being good ice breakers, Robbie finally looked up at Marsha and asked to pet him. Thankfully she nodded, gesturing to Jim happily. She looked pleased at his request, but Robbie didn’t pay too much attention to her expression, his focus having already shifted to Jim.

The dog’s blue eyes were curious, and Robbie slowly extended his hand so Jim could scent it. He took a quick sniff and then shoved his face into Robbie’s outstretched hand. Startled, Robbie lurched forward a bit and nearly dropped his mug but laughed a little, enjoying Jim’s apparent desperation for petting. He gave him a good scratch around the muzzle and ears before moving his hand to smooth down Jim’s head and neck.

He’d expected the short fur to be more wiry in texture, as most short hairs were, but to his surprise it wasn’t like that at all; it was blanket soft, almost fluffy.

Marsha could see his surprise and she chuckled. “He’s naturally a long haired dog,” she explained. “But he tends to matt up a lot so I keep him pretty closely shorn, bless him. He’s just been freshly cut yesterday, actually, so you get to enjoy the ultra-softness for now.”

Robbie hummed in acknowledgement, smiling slightly. Jim’s short fuzz was lovely to touch, and it was a little easier to talk if he kept his concentration on the feel of it.

“The nightmares…” he began again. “I’m alone, or I’ve…” hurt someone, made then angry, made them cry, made them _leave_ , “done something dumb.”

Sometimes he sees people stood around him. They tell him why he should be the one to leave LazyTown, why he’s making the town worse by just being there. He’s not fun, he’s just lazy and dumb and he cries all the time and honestly there’s just no point to you even being here Robbie, we don’t like you. Your stupid schemes are boring and tedious and you’re going to hurt someone one of these days. Just go _away_.

He doesn’t tell Marsha that though. He can’t. He won’t.

“Sometimes I just wake up on my own,” he tells her instead. “Or sometimes I get woken up. I live… in a basement apartment. It’s not very soundproof and kids on the ground outside are very noisy.”

The grimace on his face apparently told Marsha what he thought of that, because she quickly raised her mug to her lips to stifle a grin.

“Not a fan of kids?”

Robbie’s nose twitched and he bit back a scoff. In truth, the kids themselves weren’t awful, certainly a lot more considerate since Sportacus had turned up… however they were also a lot _louder_. “They’re so _noisy_ ,” he complained, and Marsha snorted.

“Agreed,” she said, lifting her mug in a toast.

Robbie smiled and lifted his own.

“Do you have any rituals to… calm down after a nightmare?” Marsha asked after a moment.

He nodded. “If I can. It– it takes me a while to get over it enough to do something,” he said, lowering his head in shame, “but after I’ll make a drink.”

“That help?”

Robbie nodded. It did help; helped him calm down at least. It couldn’t help him get back to sleep though, that pretty much never happened.

“Robbie,” Marsha asked, a little confused, “what did you mean when you said ‘if you can’?”

Robbie went quiet, putting his focus onto the softness of Jim’s fur under his hand so he could work up his courage. “Sometimes I can’t calm down enough to get a drink,” he admitted quietly, almost whispering, “they… they freak me out too much.” He was such a baby.

That apparently made more sense to Marsha than he’d thought because her face cleared of confusion. She nodded slowly and took a slow drink, deep in thought. “Do you have panic attacks, Robbie?” she asked softly, when she’d finished.

“Yes.”

He couldn’t look her in the eye again, staring down at Jim instead.

“Do they happen a lot?” She asked after a while.

“Not… _too_ often, I suppose. They get worse during…” he trailed off, frozen for a moment.

“The bad weeks?” Marsha finished for him.

He nodded.

“Jenny didn’t tell me much about them,” she told him, “she only told me that you had something that you called bad weeks, and that you didn’t sleep very well in them. Sometimes you manage to work. That’s all I know, really,” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Do you work from home?”

It was a clear change of subject and Robbie appreciated it very much. It was a break, something hopefully a little easier for him to talk about. “I’m an inventor,” he said, “and a mechanic – mainly the inventing bit though.”

“Ah,” Marsha cocked her head, “so you have a workshop or something in your apartment?”

Well, technically his entire _lair_ was his workshop, but eh; potayto potahto. “Yes.”

“You enjoy it?”

Robbie smiled. “Very much. It can get frustrating – very frustrating, occasionally, if I get stuck – but it’s fun and I enjoy it. Plus, it pays well,” he shrugged.

“Genius usually does,” Marsha commented, sipping her coffee, and Robbie looked up sharply. “What?” Marsha asked, “I mean, I’ll admit I don’t really know you or know much about your work, but for someone to be an inventor and have it be – I’m assuming – a relatively stable income or source of money then you must be pretty good at it. And you can’t really do that without, essentially, being a genius. In that regard, at least.”

Oh. That, that was sweet – and very unexpected. He wasn’t used to people noticing his work, let alone compliment it. He certainly wasn’t used to people complimenting… _him_.

He went to take a sip of his hot chocolate to cover his shock but found that his cup was empty. At least the shock of that discovery covered up that of being complimented.

The look of surprise and confusion on his face made Marsha laugh and she raised her mug. “Finished?”

“Apparently?”

“Fancy a bit of a break?” she asked. “Jim could do with a bit of a walk – we could play fetch.”

Clearly ‘walk’, and ‘fetch’, were words that Jim clearly understood because Jim’s head rocketed up off Robbie’s foot and turned sharply towards Marsha, tail quivering with excitement.

“Sure,” Robbie agreed. No way he was going to deny Jim a game of fetch, the poor dog was practically vibrating. Plus, a break would be nice right now, something he knew Marsha was well aware of. Marsha stood and reached over to take his mug. He gave it to her with a muttered thanks and Jim immediately leapt up from his bed and stared wheeling around Robbie’s legs; Marsha standing apparently the given signal that they were going for a walk, and were going to play fetch. Robbie just chuckled and stood up to put his peacoat back on.

Marsha came back into the room as he was pulling his satchel back over his head. She went to put on her own coat, Jim transferring from weaving around Robbie’s legs to her own. Robbie fussed with his satchel strap whilst she did so, making it sit nicely on his shoulder in a way that was comfortable; his shoulders and back were a little sore from sleeping funny in his chair last night and from all the tossing and turning he’d done before realising that any more sleep was a lost cause.

Within a minuet though, everyone was sorted and Marsha led the way out of the staff room, Jim and Robbie following closely behind.


	7. the calm before the storm (and also the actual storm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie joins Marsha and Jim for a quick break before they get down to the more difficult parts of the discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't make myself take the phrase 'nice guns' out so it's in there and i refuse to apologise

Marsha took Robbie and Jim to one of the big fields next to the Trust’s main grounds. This particular one was North of the Trust and was separated from the rest by a fence along the South and West borders and edged by forests on the North and East. They didn’t stray too far down from the fence in order to minimise the walk back, but they did wander along the fence towards the forest. They didn’t go in, just stuck around the outside of the tree-line, and Marsha pulled a tooth-marked red ball out of her pocket and passed it to Robbie.

“Got a good arm?”

Oh he did, as shown when he lobbed the ball half way down the darn field. Marsha was taken aback by just how good an arm he had, but if the slightly terrifying grin she gave was any indication, she was impressed. (And pleased. Robbie got the feeling he’d be doing most of the throwing for this particular game of fetch.)

Honestly, though he was an _inventor_. He spent 90% of his time lugging around huge metal machines and hammers and yet people were always so shocked when they saw something like this. He might not have biceps of steel like a certain Elf but that didn’t mean he was a weed! Just… really tall. And, alright, pretty lanky. Still. He had some nice guns.

Jim was particularly pleased with Robbie’s ball-throwing ability, racing off across the grass to catch it.

Marsha sighed as she watched him run off. “He’s going to be covered in mud after this.”

“ _You_ brought him to a muddy field,” Robbie pointed out before he could stop himself. Luckily, Marsha just laughed.

“True. He likes it here – he likes to run in the forest.”

Robbie cast a slightly sceptic glance at the trees.

“Don’t worry,” Marsha chuckled, “we’re not going in there. Jim might have a bit of a run around the outermost trees but I’m sure not following him.”

Jim scurried back with the ball and dropped it at Robbie’s feet. It was covered in grass and mud and slobber. Robbie looked at it for a minute, grimacing, but picked it up anyway – though gingerly, and only using as many of his fingertips as he had to – and threw it again.

He saw Marsha looking at him and Robbie winced.

“I’m not saying anything,” Marsha said, raising her hands in surrender. “Could’ve brought a glove for you though if I’d’ve known, though.”

“It’s just one day,” he waved her off. “I can get one of those stick-thrower things if I get a dog of my own,” he said, he’d seen those. They looked like pasta strainers.

“No way,” Marsha shook her head. “Those things _extend_ the throw as well, you know – with an arm like yours you’d probably chuck it into the stratosphere.”

Robbie snorted.

They played fetch for around half an hour, Robbie still grimacing every time he picked up the ball to throw it. Jim loved it though, so it wasn’t too much of a sacrifice, even if he was dying to wash his hand. He put most of his energy into not clenching it, easier when talking to Marsha about this and that. Talking to her helped him forget about it.

When they were done, Marsha took the ball back and shoved it back in her pocket – grass, mud, drool and all – and they headed back up to the Trust.

The walk back was nice, Jim panting happily as he trotted at Marsha’s ankles. Watching Jim wipe his paws on the entrance mat when they got back into the Staff building would never get old, Robbie decided. It didn’t do much for the rest of his mud splattered legs though. When they got back into the staff room Jim, bless him, was made to wait in the kitchen for a few moments whilst Marsha shrugged her coat off and put it back on her chair before she went back to sort him out.

She set the mugs – which she’d cleaned before they left – back under the coffee machine, took Robbie’s polite order of another hot chocolate and found a tea towel to towel Jim down with whilst the drinks were made.

His fur was still stained a little green with grass stains in places but she managed to get most of the mud off, and when Jim came to rejoin Robbie by the fireplace he was all fuzzy and puffed up. It was excellent; he looked like he’d been put through a dryer and Robbie snickered as Jim snuggled up to his leg.

Robbie had already taken his peacoat and satchel back off again when Marsha came back in with the drinks, handing Robbie his mug before she sat in her chair with her own. This time though, she also shucked off her wellies when she sat and curled her feet up under her butt on the seat. The action made Robbie smile since he did the same thing at home in his chair very often. Marsha grinned at him and raised her eyebrows at him in invitation – or challenge, he wasn’t sure – and after a little hesitation he did the same, curling up in his chair, Jim shifting to lean against his thigh instead of his leg, unbothered.

They sat for a couple of seconds, both cradling their respective mugs whilst they got comfortable.

“So,” Marsha said a moment after they’d settled, and Robbie felt his stomach sink. Here it was. She’d changed the subject before but he knew fine well that this was something that couldn’t be put off forever. It was important, and it had to be discussed no matter how much he disliked it.

“Tell me about these bad weeks,” Marsha said as casually as she could without making it sound careless or weird.

“They– they’re…” he trailed off. He didn’t know where to start. (He didn’t _want_ to start.) Jim nudged at his hand with his nose and Robbie automatically buried his fingers in his soft underfur.

“They’re awful,” is all he could manage to say. Not helpful at all, but Marsha didn’t tell him off, she just nodded.

“How long do they usually last?” She asked.

“A week,” he said, “sometimes two.” There. Simple, easy question; simple, easy answer.

“Do you sleep?”

Robbie just made a desperate noise. It was so hard to explain, it was so _varied_. “I – sometimes all I do is sleep. I’ll just spend a whole day sleeping. But most of the time I don’t.” That was about as good as he could explain it. There wasn’t a set amount of hours, or pattern. One week could be completely different from the next time it happened.

“Not at _all?_ ”

“No,” Robbie shook his head. “I try – I just, I can’t _do_ it.”

“What about your drinks,” Marsha asked, “do they not help?”

Robbie snorted in disgust. “No,” he spat. “I can’t even get up to _make it_.” Honestly, he was just so _pathetic_.

Marsha didn’t flinch at his harsh tone, probably picking up on the fact that it wasn’t her it was directed at. “Do you have panic attacks during these times?

“Yes. Sometimes.”

She didn’t reply to that instead taking a sip of her drink. Grateful for the small break, Robbie took some breaths and drank some of his hot chocolate, letting the smooth texture of Jim’s fur soothe him. It was quite grounding actually. He was still a little… panicky, and a little angry at himself, but concentrating on the feeling of Jim’s fur kept him from losing control or freaking him out.

They spent five or so minutes just sat there, drinking their drinks. It was reasonably peaceful and gave Robbie some time to calm himself down before they went any further.

It couldn’t last forever though, and eventually Marsha spoke again.

“Jenny said you manage to work.”

Robbie nodded.

“What’s that like?”

“It…” How best to explain? “It’s too much. I can’t stop working. I get… sucked in, and it’s all I can think about. I can’t stop, I just have to keep going.”

He might forget if he stops, loose his train of thought or forget an idea, or something crucial. Better to just do it all in one go, he always thinks, then it’ll be perfect.

“Do you sleep?”

He shook his head. “No. Not until I’m done, or–” he snapped his mouth shut suddenly, cutting himself off.

“Or…” Marsha gently prompted.

“Or I… fall asleep.” _He collapses._ “I don’t plan on it.”

“Do you eat?”

“No. I forget. I’m too busy to realise I’m hungry or to remember when I last ate. Time passes too quickly. I’ll go through a whole day, or even two, before I realise.” He thought for a moment. “Sometimes I’ll have some crackers, if I remember. I always have coffee.”

Marsha took a sip of her own coffee. Her face was carefully neutral. “What happens if you don’t work?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” he blurted, “nothing happens.”

“At all?”

He shook his head desperately. “I can’t make myself do anything at all most of the time; I can’t _move_. Everything takes _so much_ effort.”

“Like walking through treacle,” Marsha said.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Even the simplest of things become so difficult.”

“Like dressing, eating, going to the toilet; things like that?”

He nodded.

“Do you manage to do all of those things?”

Robbie hesitated, but eventually he shook his head. He really _couldn’t_. It was awful, pathetic; this was the most _basic_ stuff and he couldn’t even bring himself to do that. It was so disgusting – _he_ was disgusting.

“Robbie?” Marsha said and Robbie looked up sharply, confused.  It took him a few moments to realise that he’d been quiet for longer than he thought.

“Sorry,” he apologised, flushing.

Marsha smiled softly at him. “It’s alright. _Can_ you do any of those things, though, during a bad week?”

“I – I can go to the toilet,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “That’s it. I don’t usually eat. I don’t bother to change or, or–”

“Wash? Shower?”

He nodded. “It takes so much to just _move_. It – it’s like you said; everything’s treacle. I’m all numb.”

They took another few moments for a drink break, Robbie putting his focus back onto the feeling of Jim’s fur. The dog loved the attention, turning to lick at his hand or headbutt it gently for ear scratches – which Robbie happily gave.

“What do you think about?” Marsha asked when Robbie was a little more relaxed.

“Everything,” he said bluntly. “Everything I don’t want to think about. It all comes back and I can’t stop it.”

Marsha nodded, and took another swig of coffee. “Okay,” she told him, “Robbie I just have one more question for you, then we’re done, alright?”

One more. Okay, he could do this.

Marsha shifted in her seat, leaning forwards a bit. “Can you tell if a bad week’s going to start? Is there a– a warning of any kind?”

Robbie squinted in thought. “Sometimes a I’ll feel a bit… off for a few days – or even a week before hand,” he said. “Not always though.” Most of the time he didn’t. They just hit him, or they crept up on him so slowly that he didn’t even realise he it until he noticed that he hadn’t moved in three days.

“Alright,” Marsha nodded, “Okay.” Suddenly she beamed and leaned forwards until she was almost out of her chair, the mug in her hand dangerously close to tipping. “That’s it,” she told him, “it’s _over_. We’re done.”

Tension flooded from Robbie’s system so fast he felt lightheaded, and he let out a startled breath. Marsha laughed at his startled expression and soon he was joining her, feeling lighter than he had in years.


	8. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie's appointment with Marsha ends and he starts making his way home. It's not a great trip.

It took a few moments for Robbie to stop laughing, and when he did, he noticed that Marsha was giving him a bit of a concerned look. Even Jim was nudging his hand in a slightly worried fashion.

“You alright?” Marsha asked him.

Robbie was confused for a second, but then he became aware of the wetness on his cheeks and realised a few tears had fallen whilst he was laughing. Surprised, he blinked and reached up to wipe them lightly away with his fingers, suddenly very glad he’d forgone wearing any kind of eye makeup today. “Oh, s– sorry,” he stuttered, “I’m fine, honestly.”

Marsha shook her head at him, “don’t be sorry, it’s very stressful to have this sort of conversation with someone. I know I said it wasn’t an official appointment, but it’s still a lot of pressure and uncomfortable in a lot of ways.” She gave him a warm smile. “It’s quite a big thing when it’s over with; a lot of people find it cathartic.”

Robbie gave a small smile. “Yes,” he agreed, reaching down to scratch behind Jim’s ears, “it is.”

Marsha let him be for a couple of seconds whilst she drained the last of her coffee. “I think you did really well today,” she said when she’d finished.

Robbie blushed. He didn’t feel like it to be honest, it felt like they’d breezed over a lot of stuff even though every word had been a real fight for him. He’d barely scratched the surface, he thought – they hadn’t talked about how he ‘felt’ or anything like that, aside from physically. He looked back down at his mug to try and deflect but Marsha wasn’t having any of it.

“No seriously,” she told him, “it’s hard to talk about this stuff – especially to someone you’ve never met before. Spilling your guts to a stranger is a ridiculous thing to ask but you did it anyway. That takes a lot of courage. I’m proud of you Robbie.”

Robbie almost started crying again right there and then. He forced himself not to though, taking a steady breath – almost imperceptible as anything other than normal breathing – and blinking an appropriate amount of times whilst he concentrated on making his lip not wobble.

He couldn’t keep the shake out of his voice when he thanked her however, and her soft smile told him that she knew how affected he was by it anyway.

“You’re very welcome,” Marsha told him, then leaned forwards a bit to set her empty mug down on the mantelpiece. “Now,” she said when she’d settled back down, “as for what comes next, there’s only a couple of things I have to cover.”

Robbie nodded.

“Essentially, what I’m going to do now is refer you to a different doctor,” she said. “The person I have in mind someone I know. We’ve been colleagues for a while and friends too,” Marsha explained, “she’s good at her job and very nice and I trust her.”

That made Robbie feel a lot better. Marsha wasn’t just passing him on to someone random, and if this doctor was someone Marsha knew and trusted then Robbie was sure that he’d be in good hands. Even if something happened or it didn’t pan out, she had good intentions at least.

“Is that okay?” Marsha asked, and Robbie nodded. “Good. She’ll be able to give you official appointments and diagnoses, and now that you’ve talked to me that should make everything you do in her appointments a little easier. As of now, what’s going to happen is I’m going to call her when I get home and give my preliminary diagnoses and some areas or topics to cover – I’ll be giving her the blueprint, so to speak” she grinned, and Robbie snorted.

“I have to know first if that’s alright with you, though,” she asked him, serious dampening her expression for a moment. “I will have to speak to her about some of what we talked about today, nothing too in-depth, but it will have to be done. Are you okay with me doing that?”

Robbie thought for a moment. He didn’t like the thought of people discussing him – not unless it was praise for his genius – and discussing _this_ was even worse, but it was better than doing it himself. Plus, one of the main points of this was so that the doctor he would officially be seeing had some idea of what was they were looking for already. She couldn’t have that if nobody told her anything.

Decision made, Robbie nodded. “That’s fine,” he confirmed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then,” Marsha said. “In that case, I’ll ring her this evening when I get home. I’ve already spoken to her a little, just to give her a heads-up about the situation, so she’ll be expecting it,” she explained. “In a day or two I’ll give you a call and you can make an appointment. You will have to set it up yourself for legal reasons, I’m afraid, but I can help you – either over the phone or through an email, or we can meet again and I can help in person.”

Ugh. He hated making appointments. He also hated asking for help, but the thought of trying to make an appointment for a… _doctor_ on his own made him feel sick.

“Unfortunately, Robbie, once I’ve referred you to her, we won’t be able to talk in a professional context again,” Marsha said sadly. “I mean, I’ve enjoyed talking to you today and Jim’s certainly taken a shine to you, so I would actually quite like to see you again if you’d like, I just mean we wouldn’t be able to talk about this sort of thing if we did. Not in a doctor-y way at least, a friendly advice or an ear-to-listen type of thing would be fine.” She frowned. “You know, that was a really dumb way of saying, ‘Robbie, I can’t be your doctor but I’d like to be your friend’.”

Robbie snorted so hard he nearly choked, startled by the blunt admission. Not a lot of people wanted to be friends with him, especially not after they heard all that. It was unexpected, and the thought made him unbelievably anxious, but he wouldn’t mind being friends with Marsha. She was nice and kind and though she was, well, bit blunt, it was never mean and he could appreciate it. plus, Jim was just _lovely_.

“That, um,” Robbie shook himself. “That would be okay.”

Marsha snorted and Robbie felt the need to bang his head against something as soon as he was alone. Stupid!

“I’m glad,” Marsha said, grinning. “Do you have a number I can reach you on?”

Robbie nodded and picked up his satchel. After digging around for a few seconds he pulled out a pencil and some paper, which he tore a scrap off to scrawled his landline number onto. Marsha asked for a bit too so she could write down her mobile number for him. She could save his number straight onto her phone no problem, but since his was a landline he couldn’t do the same for hers. At least now they’d both be able to contact each other regardless.

Robbie placed the number carefully inside the inner pocket of his satchel whilst Marsha stood to collect her mug from the mantle and take Robbie’s. By the time Robbie had put his pencil and the rest of the paper back in the satchel she had returned from the kitchen and started to pick up her coat. Following her lead again, Robbie did the same, putting his peacoat on before swinging the strap of his satchel over his head and onto his shoulder. Jim uncurled himself from around Robbie’s leg and bounced back over to his owner, winding around Marsha’s legs.

Marsha explained what would happen next as she walked him out of the staff room. “So, I’ll call Amelia – that’s the doctor’s name – tonight to talk about today and to try and set up an appointment, or at least see when one would be available, and then call you within the week to tell you what’s happening,” she told him. “’That okay?”

 “That’s fine,” Robbie replied. That should give him a couple of days to get his head around things, Robbie thought. He was starting to feel very tired now; how draining today had actually been was starting to hit him.

“Good,” Marsha smiled. They walked almost side by side down the corridor, Robbie only slightly behind this time instead of outright following her. She walked him out of the building and down to the start of the muddy ‘path’ that lead towards the road before stopping.

“This is as far I go, unfortunately,” she said, shooting him an apologetic smile. Then she winced. “That sounded more dramatic than I meant – what I mean is, my wife’s picking me up in the car, and the car park’s up that way,” she pointed over to another muddy path up near the Trust’s public building.

“Oh.” Well that was a little disappointing. Then again, Robbie was leaning towards being exhausted; best part ways now before his tiredness caught up with him and he started to lose his politeness. “Alright then.”

“I’ll talk to you soon Robbie,” Marsha promised. “It’s been a pleasure.” She grinned and stuck out his hand for him to shake. He did so, less shaky than when he’d met her but quite weakly. God, he needed sleep.

“Jim,” she said, “say goodbye.”

Jim barked once and wagged his tail, and Robbie smiled softly before leaning down to pet him.

“Bye Jim,” he told the mongrel quietly.

Jim snuffed at his hand before returning to Marsha. The doctor smiled and waved at Robbie as she turned up towards the other path. Robbie gave a small wave in return before he set off for the road.

 

* * *

 

 

The walk back to the bus stop was absolutely agonising. It hadn’t been pleasant the first time around, but how mentally exhausting today had been made the return trip even worse. He was tired, emotionally raw and wrung-out, sore and achy, and he could literally feel himself getting crankier and crankier with every step he took. All he wanted to do was just curl up somewhere and sleep, but he couldn’t; he had to keep walking so he could get the bus, _then_ he could go home and curl up.

When he finally arrived at the bus stop, the next bus he needed wouldn’t be for another forty-five minutes. Robbie sat on the little bench under the shelter and scowled. His back was killing him, and now he had to wait even _longer_ to get home. The bus ride in itself was almost two hours.

He tried to pass the time thinking about what he’d do when he finally got home; getting some food and a nice drink, maybe a bath so he could relax after all the walking and get the soreness out of his back and muscles. Instead of being something nice to look forward to, a happy thought that would make the wait better, realising how long away that was just made him frustrated, and by the time the bus _did_ come, Robbie was in a very bad mood indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

The ride back from the Trust was difficult.

Robbie was restless, too restless for music. After skipping around 20 songs without being able to get through one, he turned the Mp3 player off and ripped out the earphones. Instead he alternated between tapping his fingers restlessly against his thigh and winding the cord of his earphones around his fingers again and again, all the while staring blankly out the bus window.

He kept thinking about his meeting with Marsha; what they’d spoken about – what _he’d_ spoken about. He hadn’t told her a lot, but he’d told her enough to know he wasn’t normal, to know how pathetic he was. He couldn’t even _shower_ sometimes for heaven’s sake! And now she knew. Someone _knew_.

Whilst it had felt good at the time to finally tell someone, to finally get those burdens off his chest, even a little, now he just felt _awful_.

He shouldn’t’ve gone today, he shouldn’t’ve told her anything.

And yet… still, she didn’t know anything. Not really. What she did know was bad enough, but in reality it was nothing compared to the stuff he _hadn’t_ told her; the _true_ nightmares – how sometimes Sportacus helped and how sometimes he was the worst of the lot, telling him how dangerous he was, how he shouldn’t be around the kids, or _anyone_ , how he should be the one to leave LazyTown forever; how he was terrified of the kids that lived in his town but wanted nothing more than to join in the fun like some sad old weirdo; how bad he was; the things he’d done, how dangerous he was; how much he cried in the bad weeks; how sometimes he just got so _sad_ he threw up.

He hadn’t told her _any_ of that. He _couldn’t_ tell her. She’d been proud; genuinely, wonderfully proud of him even after they’d talked and she’d discovered everything she had. He didn’t want to ruin that by telling her any more.

Although at the end of the day, she was a _doctor_ ; a _therapist_. It was her job to be proud of him, wasn’t it? no matter what kind of messed up stuff he unloaded on her it was her job to sit there and tell him how _good_ he was, how _normal_ , how proud she was of him for admitting those horrible, disgusting things. Who was proud of someone for admitting that they never slept? That they couldn’t feed themselves sometimes, or get dressed, or even shower?

No one did. The thought was ridiculous.

She didn’t mean it, she couldn’t’ve. No more than _Sportacus_ meant his smiles and kind words, his reassurances or his offers of friendship.

The thought of the Elf made Robbie’s stomach roil and he clenched his fist so hard that he felt the wire inside the plastic earphone cord snap. Gritting his teeth, he leant his forehead against the cool glass of the window to let the anger and nausea subside.

He couldn’t go back to LazyTown yet. No way. He couldn’t face that stupid Elf and his sweet lies and fake concern. Instead of riding the bus home, Robbie gets off at the stop before and sits in a café to suck down some cups of overly-sugared coffee.


	9. black to grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie finally gets home; he doesn't have a great night at all, but the next day isn't so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me n rob, extremely bitterly and sarcastically: ahhhhhhhhh mood fluctuations. gotta love em.

Robbie waited until dark to get a bus home.

It was almost ten by then, well past the time for Elves to be out and about, and by the time he actually made it to LazyTown he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be running into any of the other adults either.

He swung the satchel strap over his head the second his feet hit the floor of his lair, intending on stripping off the accessorial layers of his outfit before he collapsed in his chair to sleep. Screw the bath, that was all he could be bothered with. Once he had the satchel in his hand, though, he remembered what was in it.

Marsha’s number.

His fingers tightened around the leather strap. She didn’t mean it. She wouldn’t want him to _actually_ call. She was just like Sportacus, offering help and friendship because it was his job to, not because of any real desire. She probably gave it to all her clients. Even the really pathetic ones.

Like him.

Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at the satchel gripped tightly in his hand. Scrubbing at them with his free hand he hardened his expression and threw the satchel across the room. It shot across the lair and hit one of the pipes protruding from the wall with a loud clang, then dropped to the floor; a visible dint in the leather.

He bit back a sob and stalked towards his chair, wrestling with his coat as he went. The peacoat fell to the rug as soon as he got it off and he lurched onto his chair, shoes and all, and curled up. He buried his face in the fluff of his chair, hands coming up beside his jaw to grab fistfuls of it. It wasn’t the same as Jim’s fur though, and the fake fluff soon became damp against his cheeks.

By the time Robbie finally drifted off to sleep, the first rays of sunlight were raising over LazyTown.

 

* * *

 

When Robbie woke up the next morning, he felt _awful_. It was like a truck had hit him. He ached all over his body – especially his back – and sleeping in his clothes without even removing his belt, shoes or jumper had been a very bad idea indeed. His mouth tasted of old, sour coffee, he could feel yesterday’s foundation clumped under his eyes and smeared across his cheeks and the fur of his chair, and he had a _horrible_ headache – which was not helped by the ringing of his phone. Moaning pitifully, Robbie turned his face further into the cushions of his chair and clamped his palms over his ears, waiting for the ringing to stop. It did after a minute or so, but he could still feel the echoes of it rattling around in his skull.

He was still so tired – he couldn’t’ve slept more than a few hours, he just couldn’t have – but he couldn’t get back to sleep after that. He felt too bad. After an hour or so he managed to drag himself out of his chair and stagger to the bathroom, where he went to the loo, brushed his teeth and showered. When he got out of the shower, he brushed his teeth again.

After that he collapsed back into his chair, only in some pajama bottoms. He didn’t have the energy to get dressed properly, everything else had exhausted him enough. He’d only put on the pajama bottoms because they happened to be in the bathroom when he got out the shower, otherwise he’d still be in his towel.

He cast a glance over to his kitchen area only to whip it away again, stomach roiling at the sight of the coffee pot. The sour taste from this morning was too fresh. No coffee today. His gaze roamed the room, eventually alighting on the dinted satchel.

The memory of throwing it flooded Robbie’s memory and he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. He remembered everything now; his black mood – created by exhaustion and fuelled by doubt.

Perhaps she had been genuine. After all, she was a doctor, it was actually pretty dangerous to give her number out to every patient she met. She probably didn’t do that. She’d be bogged down by calls all the time after all… unless she had a separate phone for it, or gave him a fake number?

No. He shook his head, that was ridiculous. He was being paranoid.

Then again… it might not be a fake number or anything but she still probably didn’t want him to actually call. It was just a courtesy thing, like when Sportacus offered a helping hand, or to talk. It was just courtesy, he didn’t think the hero would actually be _happy_ if Robbie took him up on his offer. Of course he wouldn’t. How could he?

Marsha would likely be the same.

Though his body protested, creaking and cracking and aching, Robbie got up and went to pick up the mistreated bag. As he walked back to his chair he pulled on the magnetic buttons keeping it closed and they popped undone, allowing him to reach inside. He pulled out his Mp3 player first, wincing as he remembered snapping the inner wire of the earphones. Sighing, he unplugged the earphones and laid the player down on the arm before chucking the earphones in the direction of the bin. They were cheap, and it was quicker to order a new pair than to spend the effort fixing them.

Then he dug out the scrap of paper with Marsha’s number on it. He couldn’t bring himself to bin that too, she’d been nice enough to give it to him, but…

Looking mournfully at the string of numbers he consigned it to a rarely used drawer – incidentally, the same one he’d stuffed the Trust’s pamphlet in all those months ago – and curled back up in his chair.

 

* * *

 

It was almost one in the afternoon when the phone rang again. Robbie had spent the time between then and putting Marsha’s number in the drawer stretched out face down across the arms of his chair, his feet and hands dragging along the floor.

He contemplated letting it ring out again, but whoever it was had already rung twice today, who was to say they wouldn’t again? And if it was Marsha… as much as he wanted to ignore it right now he couldn’t really afford to.

He lifted the phone off its cradle and brought it to his ear, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust his voice not to come out as some sort of awful, mangled rasp right now, despite being awake for around three hours by this point.

“Hi Robbie!”

Oh god. _Jenny_. Robbie brought his hand up to his face and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know if he could face her like this. He was just so… _ugh._

That being said, if he had to pick up the phone for anyone today, it’d be her.

“It’s me!” she said, sounding unfortunately chipper. He couldn’t really blame her; she seemed a happy person and it _was_ one in the afternoon. “I was just calling to uh, check in,” she told him, “you know, see how you were doing.”

Robbie squeezed his eyes shut and counted to five.

“Hi Jenny,” he managed eventually. He sounded croaky.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” she asked. “I knew I should’ve waited longer – yesterday will’ve been rough, you’re tired, I can ring back lat–”

“No, no,” Robbie sighed, “it’s fine. I was already awake.”

“Oh.”

“Yesterday was, um…”

“Tough?”

“Very,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

Robbie winced.

“Was it… not good?” she asked cautiously. Robbie thought she sounded a little confused.

“It– it was tiring,” he relented. “And… difficult.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I knew it wouldn’t’ve been easy. Marsha said it went well though, so you must’ve made some progress even if it was hard.”

Something cold and awful settled in Robbie’s stomach. Of _course_ they’d been speaking about it.

“You spoke about me?” he asked before he could stop himself, voice barely a whisper.

On the other end of the line, Jenny gasped. “Oh no,” she said, sounding desperate, “no, no, no! I– I’m so sorry Robbie, I didn’t realise how that would sound. We _know_ each other,” she explained. “We’re friends. She sent me a text last night – it wasn’t detailed at all, she didn’t say anything about the meeting itself.”

There was a scuffling sound in the background. “Here,” Jenny said after a couple of seconds, “I’ll read it to you: I said; _‘how did it go’_. She said… _‘good! Jim loves him. I gave him your mug btw; he approves of Bartholomew’._

_Oh._

“I’m sorry,” he apologised weakly. _Idiot._ They were _friends_ , and they both knew him – Jenny was the one who connected him and Marsha in the first place! They weren’t just not going to mention it ever!

“No, no, it’s fine,” she assured him, “honestly, people speaking about you is never fun, especially for this kind of stuff. I’d hate it. Makes you feel like you’re under a microscope.”

Exactly.

“But it was literally just that one text. Even if it wasn’t a confidentiality grey-area, we wouldn’t talk about you behind your back like that.”

Robbie was silent. He wanted to thank her, but he couldn’t. “Okay,” he managed eventually.

“ _Did_ you uh, make progress though?” she asked. “I’m not asking for details, don’t worry.”

Progress? “I think so…” he said slowly. “Marsha said we had a, um, a good starting point for the real doctor.” He realised how that sounded and hurriedly tried to correct it. “N– not that she’s not–”

Jenny chuckled. “It’s fine, I know what you meant.”

Robbie sighed in relief and embarrassment and shut up.

“That’s good though, now you have some experience for the new doctor. It should be a little easier for you when you see them,” Jenny told him. “Did Marsha say when she’d see you next?

“Wait, you think I’ll see her again?” he asked, gaze fliting briefly to the drawer.

“Well, yeah?” she sounded confused. “Look, I know that I said it’d just be one appointment – and it is! I didn’t lie about that or anything – but the whole point of the appointment with her was to sort of… ease you in. She wouldn’t just drop you into the real thing with no prep.”

“Marsha did say something about talking again before I see the next doctor,” Robbie admitted. “I just assumed it’d be a quick phone call or something.”

“Nah,” Jenny said, “she likes you.”

Robbie snorted. “How on earth can you tell that? You only got one text and she didn’t say anything like that.”

“Ah yes,” Jenny said knowingly, “but when she said the appointment was ‘good’ she used an exclamation mark.”

“…And that means something?”

Jenny winced. “Robbie, no offense but, you know… it’s a _therapy appointment_. They’re not usually things people use exclamation points when talking about.”

She had a point.

“Plus, Jim likes you! Well, no, Jim _likes_ everyone, but she said he _loves_ you; she’ll keep you around as long as she can!” Jenny laughed, snorting down the phone.

Robbie let out a little laugh too, but he couldn’t help but think on Jenny’s wording. _‘She’ll keep you around as long as she can…’_ Was Marsha’s offer of friendship real then? Not just obligation or pure politeness?

“What about you,” Jenny asked, breaking Robbie from his thoughts, “did you like Jim?” From the tone of her voice Robbie could tell that she already knew the answer. Everybody liked Jim, it would be impossible not to.

“He was lovely.” Robbie said softly.

“Isn’t he just?” Robbie could hear the smile in her voice. “Wait ‘til you meet Dixie.”

Robbie smiled at the thought. Maybe, if Marsha’s offer was genuine, he would get to meet Dixie too. He hoped so, if she was anything like Jim he’d love to meet her.

“So, you got to use my mug then?” Jenny said wryly.

Robbie snorted. “Yes, I did.”

“Was it alright?”

“Yes, it was,” Robbie told her, amused and curious.

“ _Heck_ yeah,” Jenny crowed, “better than Marsha’s stupid beehive.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow. “ _Actually_ , I thought the beehive was cute.”

“Cuter than Bartholomew?” Jenny asked accusingly.

“What?” Robbie blinked in surprise. Who was Bartholomew? He hadn’t met anyone called Bartholomew at the Trust? And, for that matter, how did Jenny even know he liked men? He was so confused, wracking his brain for things he’d missed that would make this make sense. Suddenly, he remembered the last part of Marsha’s text message – she _had_ mentioned him approving of someone called Bartholomew. That didn’t explain who he was though, and Robbie still didn’t remember him. “Who’s Bartholomew?” Robbie asked, finally giving up on trying to figure it out himself, “I didn’t meet anyone called Bartholomew there.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“So, I named the sheep on my mug,” Jenny said. “Big deal.”

Oh _wow_.

“…Bartholomew?” Robbie asked?

“Actually, it’s Bartholom _ewe_ ,” Jenny corrected, “E-W-E at the end.”

“Oh my god,” Robbie whispered.

“Yeah.”

Robbie was speechless, absolutely delighted by this discovery.

“Shush, okay,” Jenny told him. Robbie could practically _hear_ her pouting. “It’s cute.”

“I– I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Robbie sputtered, trying not to laugh. “Bartholomewe is a… sweet name.”

“Shush.”

“And it _is_ a nice mug,” Robbie told her.

“Thank you.”

“But!” Robbie added, “You missed a trick.”

“What trick?” Jenny asked him.

“ ** _Baa_** tholomewe.”

Jenny erupted into laughter on the other end of the line, snorts and everything, and Robbie couldn’t help but giggle along. Her laughter was quite infectious and people snorting tended to set him off too.

In all honesty, laughing – especially over something so dumb and small – made him realise that he actually felt a bit better. He still felt awful. Yesterday had been hellish and a bit of laughter over a silly sheep name wasn’t going to change that, or make his bad mood disappear, but it was something. It made things more… grey then black. He didn’t completely regret picking up the phone, even though he really hadn’t wanted to before he had.

In fact, he didn’t really regret it at all. It was nice to have someone to talk to after… that. He didn’t think he could face the kids or Sportacus today, or anyone else from LazyTown. They’d just be too much, too in your face, even if they didn’t mean to be. Jenny’s was a kind of chipperness he could handle, whether it was because she was only on the phone, or because she actually had some idea of _why_ he was under the weather, Robbie didn’t know, but whatever it was he was very grateful for it.

“H– hey,” Jenny managed to wheeze after a few minutes, “can I give you m– my e-mail?”

“E-mail?” Robbie blurted. She wanted to give him his e-mail?

“Yeah,” Jenny said, “I know it’s old fashioned, but I actually use it a lot.”

“Um…” Robbie floundered, caught off guard. He hadn’t been expecting that at all – did she want to talk to him again, like, casually? As friends? Or for the Trust stuff. Robbie didn’t know, but either way, this conversation had been pretty good even though he hadn’t been in the best mood to begin with. If there was a chance he could have that again, he’d grab it.

“Sure.”

“Excellent!” Jenny trilled, “and just to let you know, I’m always open for dumb puns, even at like, three in the morning.”

“Do _not_ tell me that,” Robbie demanded immediately, “because it _will_ happen.”

“Good.”

Robbie couldn’t help but smile. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to, even over an e-mail – and, hey, maybe even this would happen again. He wouldn’t want to talk to someone _every_ time he got down – god knows sometimes he just _couldn’t_ , even the _thought_ of having to interact with someone in any way making him want to throw up – but it would be nice to have the option available if he _did_. Perhaps it would help, even a little. Just enough to make things seem less black and more... grey.


	10. fancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie eats some takeout and gets a call from Marsha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> considering i've spent such great deals of time in hospital, and have had more appointments than i could count, i sure am doing a lot of fudging here…  
> (don’t take anything written in this fic – procedure-wise – as truth!)
> 
> ((also you guys should've seen my face when i realised that i hadn't updated this in over a month oh my _god_ ))

Robbie didn’t do much after Jenny’s call. Talking with her had been nice but it was still unexpected social interaction after a very distressing day and it had exhausted him, so he spent the rest of the day sat in his chair watching mindless television. He didn’t really have much energy to devote to watching it properly, so he didn’t pick anything he’d have to pay attention to. He flicked to an old, boring looking movie and curled up in his chair to nap.

He didn’t end up actually sleeping, just dozing on and off, but that was fine. It still wasn’t anything draining, and it sort of felt like rest. He did get up at one point, to go to the toilet and get himself a cup of coffee – a lot milkier than usual; he didn’t really feel like the strong buzz that came with having it black, he just wanted to rest – but he couldn’t be bothered making himself anything to eat. He wasn’t that hungry anyway. He just stayed in his chair for the day and dozed.

He didn’t think he really slept that night, just dozed until it was morning again, but that was fine because he actually didn’t feel too bad. Not great, but not awful either. He was still tired and groggy, but he wasn’t too sore. He _was_ hungry now, but that was easily fixed.

Or, so he thought; when he actually made himself get up and get something he didn’t fancy anything that he had. He spent ages looking through his cupboards but nothing particularly caught his eye, so in the end he just abandoned the idea and went for a shower.

 

* * *

 

 

When he returned from his shower, dressed in some soft pajama pants and a jumper, he still didn’t fancy anything. All he had in his cupboards were crisps and cake ingredients. He really couldn’t be bothered to make a proper cake right now and crisps just weren’t filling enough. He could order something in, he supposed, but his favourite place wouldn’t be open until three o’clock, and it was only half eight now.

He sighed and closed the cupboard doors. He would wait.

Robbie made himself another cup of weak coffee and snuggled up in his chair again, dragging a big blanket from under his workbench with him. He switched tv back on and flicked through the channels until he found a comedy one that was showing an all-day marathon of an old comedy he quite liked. Reaching over the arm of his chair he dug his hands into the fur on the side until he found the grooves of the storage panel he’d installed. He prized it open and pulled his little laptop out of its charging station, lifting it up to his lap before reaching pack down to close the panel.

Jenny’s email was still on the little side table, the slip of paper he’d written it on propped up against the phone. He turned on his laptop and opened his contacts to add hers to the list.

The list itself wasn’t very big, and the contacts that were on there were all business related, either places he had memberships with for discounts on scrap or materials and things, or companies that wanted to buy his machines or patents. He didn’t have any friends on there at all really, Jenny would be the first. Robbie felt his good mood sour. God, that was so _sad_. He was a grown man and he didn’t have a single friend?

 _‘Stop it,’_ he told himself, _‘don’t think like that. At least you have **one** now – maybe even two if Marsha meant what she said.’_

He didn’t really have anything to say to Jenny at that minuet, so he closed down he laptop when he finished adding her e-mail address and put it back into its little cubby. A new episode of the show had started so he settled down to watch. Each one was about half an hour long, so he had twelve to go before he could order food. Luckily, delivery of any kind to LazyTown was incredibly quick, so once he actually ordered it’d only take ten minutes or so to get here, not long at all.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Robbie woke up to the kids playing aboveground, _loudly_. He was too tired to do more than roll over and shove his head under his cushion to try and block them out, being outwardly angry would just be too much _effort_. Hopefully it was late in the day and they’d soon quieten and go home.

Peeking out from under the pillow he looked over at the clock on his workbench. Half ten. They wouldn’t shut up until lunch at least, and even then, the chances of them starting again after that were high. Robbie sighed and uncurled himself from his chair; that was _him_ awake for the rest of the day.

He set the coffee machine going before ambling to the bathroom for a shower. He didn’t need one, but the hot water was nice on his muscles and usually made him feel much better if he was tired or in a bad mood, and he couldn’t hear the kids as badly because of the high water pressure and the extra insulation the tiles gave. Plus, he could sing if he wanted to. He didn’t feel like that today though, content to just watch the water drag the soap bubbles down the drain. After the shower he dug out a pair of comfy sweats and a hoodie to wear and spent a few minutes drying and dressing. Like yesterday, he couldn’t be bothered doing anything with his hair – no one would be seeing it anyway so it wasn’t that important – and just let it air-dry. He did give it a run through with a brush whilst it was still wet though; it would curl unless he actively dried it straight himself, but at least that would mean less horrible tangles later.

He hung his towel back over the rack to dry and went back to the main room to grab his coffee. He still didn’t want it black, so he added milk to it along with his customary five spoons of sugar. He’d ordered way more food than was necessary for one meal last night so that he’d have enough leftovers for the next two days – then he wouldn’t have to cook or go shopping. He took a carton of noodles and a carton of rice out of the fridge and mixed them together in a bowl, which he shoved in the microwave.  His microwave had them steaming in seconds, during which he grabbed the leftover prawn crackers, and Robbie gathered his food and his coffee up and took them over to his chair. In order to block out the noise from above he turned up the television as loud as it could go, having no interest in coming up with a scheme to get then to be quiet. Instead he munched on his food and resigned himself to another day of television.

 

* * *

 

 

The empty bowls had been resting at his feet for almost two and a half hours when the phone rang. Robbie had been dozing, happily missing out on some dumb, boring western, and the sudden noise made him jump. He scrambled upright so he could reach over and grab the phone, knocking one of the bowls over in the process.

“He– hello?” he croaked, voice a little hoarse from not speaking for almost a full day. He searched for the remote whilst he spoke, quickly digging it out from between the chair’s cushions and pushing the mute button on the remote and let out a little sigh of relief as the film went silent – the last thing he needed was gunshots and yelling cowboys getting down the line.

“Hello? Robbie?”

Oh, Marsha. Robbie blinked in surprise, even though he knew that Marsha would be calling at some point with news of his appointment, he’d still been expecting it to be Jenny.

Shaking his head, he cleared his throat to try and get some of the raspyness out of his voice. “Um, hello Marsha.”

“Oh! Robbie, good,” Marsha said, “I put the number in right, excellent.”

Robbie snorted at her little self-congratulation before he could stop himself.

Marsha chuckled. “I hardly ever get new numbers right the first time, even if they’re right in front of me.”

Robbie had to stop himself from gasping. “M– me too,” he told her. He wasn’t glad that she struggled with it, of course, but it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one.

Numbers sometimes got a bit jumbled up for Robbie. If he ever had to use any maths or measurements in his work he always had to triple check at the very least. He was a good mechanic, and a genius, but he didn’t understand numbers that well. Long strings of numbers – like telephone numbers – always did him in.

“Annoying, isn’t it,” Marsha said wryly and Robbie hummed in agreement. “Anyway, I called to say that I’ve spoken with Dr Jones – that is, Amelia – and she’s very happy to set up an appointment with you. As I said before, you’ll have to actually _make_ the appointment yourself, but Amelia has offered to let you set it up with her personally instead of calling a receptionist – here, I have her extension.”

Marsha gave him the number for the hospital Dr Jones worked at, and the extension for her particular phone. Robbie made sure to copy it down carefully and repeated it back to her when he’d done to make sure he’d gotten it right.

“It’ll pretty much just be arranging a time, so don’t worry about it okay?” Marsha assured him. “The only questions she’ll ask are your date of birth and stuff.”

“Okay.” Robbie nodded to himself, that wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t like he’d never made an appointment before. The nature of everything was still difficult to deal with but… as long as it was literally just sorting out an appointment he’d be fine.

“That particular wing shuts at half past five, so if you want to do it today you’ll have to call before then,” Marsha told him. “If not, the wing is open from seven to five-thirty every day, and Amelia works Tuesday to Saturday.”

“Okay–” Robbie quickly scribbled that down, “seven to five-thirty, Tuesday to Saturday?”

“That’s it,” Marsha confirmed. “You can call me back after you’ve made it if you want,” she offered, “it’s still going to be a tough thing even after our practice one, and I thought we could meet beforehand; like a sort of pep-talk, but with dogs.”

“Oh, um…” Robbie was taken aback. Maybe she had meant the whole friendship thing? Or was this more of a hand-over sort of thing, to make sure he transitioned from Martha to Dr Jones properly? Robbie didn’t want to get the wrong idea about what was happening here, so maybe it was best just to end this now before he could get too attached. On the other hand though, these appointments would be hell and he knew it. It’d be stupid to refuse something that could be so useful, even if it hurt him in the long run. And he’d get to see Jim again, possibly.

“Sure,” he said, “that would be nice, thank you.”

“No problem,” Marsha told him warmly, “call me back whenever you’ve made the appointment and we can talk times.”

“Alright, um, thank you,” he repeated.

Marsha chuckled. “You’re very welcome Robbie, I’ll talk to you soon. Good luck!”

“Than- I, um, bye,” Robbie managed to splutter. He heard Marsha chuckling to herself as she hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((what? projecting my own eating issues onto Robbie? naaaahhhh. 'course not))


	11. steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie makes an appointment with a therapist, and Mrs Green is an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. it's been a while, hasn't it?
> 
> I'd like to start of with an apology. about a month, i'd say after the last chapter of this was posted i had a really low point, which i believe was my depression resurfacing. it lasted a while, and even when i began to feel better while my mood was lifted my motivation was still in the gutter. it's only in the last month or so that that's began to pick up again, and this fic and Always Find Their Kind, as they were both bigger, multichapter fics and had a enough of a following that it was just too big and intimidating to get back after such a long absence, and the longer i left it, the worse it got. i'll be honest, i just procrastinated with them.
> 
> i think i'm back though. It'll be slow going at first maybe, but there will be more. i'm not abandoning these two fics, i promise you, and i aim to complete both by the end of 2018 - though hopefully it wont take that long!
> 
> happy new year guys :)

Robbie didn’t ring the number Marsha had given him until the following day.

It’d taken a while to try and work himself up to doing it and in the end he just couldn’t. He might’ve made appointments before but that didn’t mean he _liked_ doing it. At least there was more than one chance with this, and Marsha had said that he didn’t have to ring straightaway…

He had to buck up and do it eventually though, and that took almost a full twenty-four hours and a large portion of the Chinese leftovers.

Fortunately, the call was answered before he had time to lose his nerve.

“Dr Jones,” the voice introduced, “hello?”

“Um– hi, hello, I’m Rotten– uh!” He quickly cleared his throat and prayed that she wouldn’t hang up. “I mean, I’m _Robbie_ Rotten and I was um– told I could set up an appointment with you?” He tried his best to keep his voice as even as possible, but he knew that it hadn’t worked.

“Oh, Mr. Rotten,” Dr Jones exclaimed. She sounded… pleased? “I’ve been expecting your call, yes yes, Dr Freidman has informed me on your situation.”

Dr Frei– _oh,_ Marsha. “Yes, um…” Robbie didn’t really know what to say from there. Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything at all; Dr Jones took over for him.

She asked for his full name, date of birth and national security number, as well as some quick things for insurance and the names of his usual doctors and hospitals so that she could update his records.

It… was a really short conversation after that. He hadn’t thought it would be a long one or anything, but it was still shorter than he’d expected. Despite the shortness of it, Robbie didn’t feel rushed. Amelia was warm on the phone and she seemed nice, taking her time with the few questions she had.

He ended up with an appointment at three o’clock for this Friday coming, which would give him more than enough time to meet with Marsha, if that ended up happening. It would also give him almost a full week to think of, plan and execute a scheme before he went to it. Not only would it keep appearances up and stop anyone from wondering where he was – since he had to allow for another black-moon induced disappearance afterwards – but it’d be nice to get a bit of peace and quiet the day before he had to go through _that._

First though, he had to call Marsha.

 

* * *

 

 

He got her answering machine.

Robbie didn’t know whether or not to be relieved or disappointed, but through the mixed feelings he managed to stutter out a quick message telling her when his appointment was. It was brief and undetailed and he probably sounded like a mess, and the whole thing made him wince when he’d put the phone down again.

He’d also forgotten to say anything like ‘give me a call back’, he realised.

Oops.

Well… she’d been the one to suggest the call-back in the first place, so he was sure she would if she wanted to. If she didn’t, he’d just have to ring her himself. The thought made him nervous, so he went to the fridge to dig out some more leftovers.

 

* * *

 

It was another full two days before Robbie ventured out of his lair, prompted only by running out of food completely and the fact that spending so long underground was sending him a little loopy. Usually if he was trying to avoid everyone, he would just go out at night, when everyone else was asleep, but he hadn’t done so this time. He just couldn’t be bothered. He hadn’t actually left his lair since he’d gotten back from his appointment with Marsha, and it had started taking its toll.

Even so, he still didn’t want to face anyone so he waited as late as he could before leaving. The store shut at eight o’clock, but he still needed to allow an hour to get there and shop before it did. Seven should be more than late enough for the kids to have gone home for the day, but Sportacus might still be around. Sportacus usually went back up to his ship after the kids left, but it was still a small risk. Robbie could just about handle seeing Mrs Green today, but he couldn’t bear the thought of talking to Sportacus right now.

He’d just have to hurry.

He power-walked to the grocers – the closest he would ever get to running unless he was actively being chased – ducking into the bushes and weaving between trees that lined the path to Mrs Green’s. It only took about ten or so minuets, but Robbie felt a little drained by the time he got there.

The store was empty, as he’d expected. It was too late for anyone to be there; bigger shops would have been done earlier in the day, and now it was after tea-time for most people so anyone who would be there would likely have just been picking one or two things up. As it was though, he seemed to be the only person in there.

The dogs were curled up on their beds behind the counter, Robbie could see, and both lifted their heads when he came inside, though they didn’t get up. That was fine, Robbie understood the importance of a nap and he had shopping to do anyway, he wouldn’t get anything done if he just stood around and petted them.

Mrs Green was nowhere to be seen, which was unusual, but it was late so Robbie figured she was just in the back. There was still had over half an hour until closing time, so she’d be _somewhere_ around.

He picked a little trolley from the rack and wandered around the aisles. He hadn’t brought an actual list this time, since he didn’t know what he fancied, but he has some idea of things he needed. He got some milk for milkshakes and hot chocolate, some more hot chocolate powder, some eggs, a large sack of potatoes – okay, yes, _technically_ a sportscandy, but by the time he was through with them they’d be beautiful, salty fries or delicious buttery mash so unhealthy that Sportacus would turn green at the sight of them – some biscuits and pasta and accompanying sauces. He also got some oil and a couple of the giant butter sticks. He browsed through the freezer section and picked out a few frozen meals and things, and got some stuff for sandwiches.

He also picked up some pizza, which he quite liked the look of. Finally, something he _fancied._

When he rounded the corner of the baking aisle he saw Mrs Green’s nephew – Chives? No, _Jives_ – organising the opposite shelf. The teen nodded at him and let him pass, almost shrinking into the shelf so Robbie could do so. He thought that a little odd at first; Robbie was a little bigger in certain places, sure, but he was only truly large in height, before he remembered Mrs Green talking about her nephew being ‘a bit of a shy one’.

Robbie could understand that. He nodded back at the kid politely before heading over to the shelves he wanted to continue his shopping.

When he’d finished, he pushed his full trolley over to the counter. Mrs Green was there when he arrived and he dredged up a little smile for her whilst he started to unload. He had a rule not to be mean to the people he bought food from, even if he was feeling off or grouchy, and Mrs green was a nice lady with lovely dogs, so he’d always strive to be polite to her.

It didn’t seem to work this time though, since she saw his wan little grimace and frowned at him.

“Are you alright Mr Rotten?” She asked him. “Pardon my bluntness but you don’t look so good.”

Robbie winced, lifting the potatoes onto the counter. “I um, I’ve been a little… under the weather lately,” he admitted carefully.

“You poor thing,” she tutted. The dogs had sat up now and she reached to stroke the Husky’s ears whilst the Great Dane rested her huge head on the counter to look at him. “I wondered where you’ve been; I haven’t seen you around the town recently, bless you.”

“Oh um,” Robbie felt his face heating up and he shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I’ve been um, resting,” he finally managed, busying himself with unloading the trolley.

Mrs Green frowned again and turned around. “You stay right there Mr Rotten, I won’t be a moment,” she told him before opening the door to the back and sliding through.

Confused, Robbie stood for a moment wondering why she’d left. The dogs took the opportunity to sneak under the counter and came up to him to beg for scratches, Robbie obliged to puzzled to do anything more than stand there and pet them.

When Mrs Green came back down a few minutes later she didn’t seem surprised to see that the dogs had escaped, and was holding a Tupperware container of... something.

“I make soup every weekend,” she explained, “it’s not quite the fabled, all-healing chicken soup, but a nice, hearty beef broth does wonders too, I find.” She passed him the container over the counter.

“Did you get bread?” She asked, looking at his purchases. He had – one of the cheaper loaves, yes, but he liked it.

“No no no,” she shook her head upon spotting it and Robbie blinked, confused, “that won’t do at _all.”_ She lifted the gate part of the counter and slipped underneath, disappearing into one of the aisles whilst Robbie stood and gaped. The husky nudged his hand with her nose and he realised he’d stopped petting them, so he resumed his strokes. Mrs Green reappeared within a couple of seconds carrying a pack of crusty rolls in her hand and added them to Robbie’s shopping. “There you go poppet, on the house – warm those up and put some good butter on them, you’ll be feeling better in no time.”

“I– I–” Robbie sputtered.

“I won’t hear nothing of it,” Mrs Green waved him off, “it’s the least I can do. You’re a sweet boy and my dogs love you,” she looked pointedly the dogs pressing themselves as close to him as they could.

Robbie couldn’t do anything but stand there in shock, petting the dogs whilst Mrs Green rang up his purchases. She even helped him pack everything into the material bags he’d brought with him, the Tupperware of soup resting carefully on the top, while he paid.

“There you go Mr Rotten,” she announced, “all done.”

“I– _thank you,”_ he told her. He wasn’t sure what else he could say other than that.

“You’re very welcome Mr Rotten,” she said, “I hope you feel better soon.”

He nodded frantically, petting the dogs one last time each before he left, shuffling quickly outside. He tried his hardest to make it seem like he wasn’t fleeing the shop, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

 

* * *

 

Once he was back in his lair and everything was put away, he followed Mrs Green's instructions carefully. The rolls went into the oven and the soup went into a bowl, which he then put into the microwave to warm up. The Tupperware was washed carefully and set to air-dry on the side whilst everything was being heated, and when the microwave pinged, Robbie threw a thick blanket over his chair and went to get the soup out. It smelled _divine._

He set the bowl and a spoon on the table next to his chair and tent back over to get the bread out of the oven. Cutting the rolls open and buttering them at the counter would make them lose their heat, so Robbie just piled them onto a plate and brought them over to the table, butter and knife in his other hand. He set his cushion on his lap and wrapped himself in his blanket so he was nice and warm. He hadn’t made the soup too hot, not having the patience to wait for it to cool again, but he still placed it on top of the pillow just in case.

He tore a chunk off one of the rolls and spread a curl of butter haphazardly over the soft inside, then dunked half of it in the soup.

It tasted wonderful.

He dipped the other half of the buttered bread chunk and ate that too, then reached for the rest of the roll. He was ravenous, but he wanted to savour it so he made sure not to go too fast. It was really lovely, although the steam was making his eyes water a little bit.

Stupid steam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (also mrs green is a goshdarn gift and i won’t hear a bad word against her)


	12. for naught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie plans for his next scheme. He's got to sacrifice some sleep, but hopefully it'll be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a lil note to say that this chapter is a little shorter than the previous ones because it and the next chapter were originally just going to be one single one, but it ended up being a bit big so I cut it in half. The next chapter isn't quite one yet so i'm not sure if that one will be normal length or not, but it probably will, or at least be a little longer than this one :)

Robbie slept most of the night, which was a nice change. He didn’t even wake up during the night. Maybe the soup _was_ magic, he wondered; he hadn't had a night that good in… months. Many months.

He even felt well rested enough for breakfast - which was just a couple of poptarts, but still, he managed two of those while he made his morning coffee. He poured one cup, black, to properly wake him up and drank it while he dressed. He wouldn’t be going anywhere today, so he didn’t spend too much time on his hair and didn’t even bother with his makeup. It would all be ruined by the end of the day anyway most likely.

He had three days until the appointment with Dr. Jones. That was three days to plan, perfect, and build a new scheme for the week. He'd been inactive for too long, if he didn’t make a villainous appearance soon then he worried that people - aka Sportacus - would come looking for him, and he didn’t want that. If he _had_ to interact with Sportacus or the kids, he'd much rather it was on his own terms.

The scheme would have to be enacted on Friday, the day of his appointment. It would be cutting it close, but if he'd had this long away from trickery then he'd have to have something good to show for it, which meant that he'd need as much time to plan as possible. If he spent the next three days solid planning and building, then he could pull of the scheme when the kids got up to play in the morning and be done in time to get the bus to his appointment.

First cup of coffee gone, he poured himself another, added cream and sugar, and pulled his chalkboard over to his worktable. He already had a vague idea of what to do - nothing concrete, it had hardly been his priority over the last few days but his mind had occasionally wandered - but he took a few minutes to flip through the notebook of ideas he kept just in case there was anything better. There wasn't. At least, not something that he had any idea on how to actually make it happen or would fit within the time limit he had.

The first idea it was, then. Chalk in hand, he set to work.

 

* * *

 

Marsha had called at some point. He wasn’t sure when, but sometime between his fourth cup of coffee and his sixth he noticed his phone blinking to tell him he'd received a message. That was about as good a time frame as he could give, which wasn't very useful. Living underground, where there was no natural light to help you, it was hard to tell just how quickly time passed - it was so much worse when he was working. When he got really into his work, he could take a break to find that it was almost night-time, despite swearing that it was still only eight in the morning when he looked up an 'hour' ago. It was extremely disorienting and Robbie hated it.

While the coffee machine brewed, Robbie listened to the message that he'd gotten. He hadn't even heard the phone ring, sucked so far into his work that noises not even two feet away from him didn’t register. (At least it meant that the noise from upstairs tended to go unnoticed too.)

The message was short. Marsha had gotten his call, she was sorry she'd missed him and wanted to meet before the appointment like they'd discussed last time. She gave him the address for a coffee shop in the same town as his appointment, and asked if an hour and a half beforehand was long enough. Robbie figured it was, but he didn’t have time to ring her back now - not when there was work to be done. While the coffee finished percolating he scribbled down the address, then stuck a straw in the coffee pot and went back to work.

 

* * *

 

Sleep didn’t really happen for the next few days. Instead, Robbie worked.

By the early hours of Wednesday morning, everything had been planned and organised to the best of Robbie's ability - which was of course, excellently - and he could start physically creating things. That took up most of Wednesday, after grapping a quick, fitful catnap in his chair.

Food fell by the wayside as he worked, but he did remember to snack a little once or twice; crackers and candy and the like, so even though he was always hungry he was never starving, and the work never let him feel it properly anyway, so it was easy to forget and easy to ignore whenever he remembered.

Everything went well. Incredibly well, actually, and by four o'clock on Thursday morning everything was finished. His disguise was sewn and waiting, the machine was finished and gleaming, and Robbie had spent time practicing his newest persona while he'd been measuring and cutting the pieces for his disguise.

He was stiff and sore from the constant work; bent over tables and lugging around heavy machinery round the lair; sweaty from the blowtorch and running around with ideas; and his hair was an absolute birds nest, the curls that he usually flattened with spray and gel had sprung back up after so long without being touched-up and were tangled and knotted together. He had a headache, his vision was a little off, and he was hungry enough that his stomach throbbed in time with the pain that was sitting behind his eyesockets like sharp knives.

But everything was finished, and a full day earlier than planned at that. Robbie was very pleased with himself, especially when he realised that this was even better for him. Instead of rushing and trying to fit the scheme, the meetup with Marsha and the appointment all into one day - which with the later appointment time he _could_ theoretically do, if he didn’t also have to get ready after the scheme and get the bus to travel - It would be much better to do the scheme the day _before_ the appointment. He'd have time to do the entire thing without rushing or having to cut bits out to timesave _and_ he'd be able to at least wait until the kids were actually being noisy, instead of going aboveground at about seven in the morning - which is what he'd have to do if he did everything in the one day. Now he'd have plenty of time and he could be as elaborate as he liked, which would mean the scheme would go much better and more smoothly, and he'd then have the rest of the night and a decent chunk of the morning to prepare for whatever hell awaited for him on Friday.

With everything ready to go, he crawled over the arm of his chair and collapsed into the cushions, not even bothering to change or wipe the oil off his face. He could do that tomorrow. Well, later today.

When the kids woke him up, he'd be ready. All he'd have to do was shower and dress.

Robbie fell into a dreamless sleep, curled up in a ball on the cushions of his chair. He'd be ready.

 

* * *

 

It was a disaster.

Well, no, technically it wasn’t a disaster - because he never actually got to the point where there could be a disaster.

He'd spent a good half hour or so lugging the stupid machine out of his lair and down into the town, hiding it behind some of the trees so it would stay a secret until the big reveal later. But he'd never gotten to the big. The machine had started smoking on the way up, yes, but Robbie had genuinely thought that that was just from dragging it across the ground - friction, yes? Metal on gravel and concrete didn’t tend to mix well. It has stopped when he'd gotten to the trees, but then when he was putting on the last parts of his disguise behind the court wall he'd seen smoke above the treeline - not enough to indicate a fire, goodness no, just a few tiny wisps, but it was enough for Robbie to abandon the disguise and run back to the machine.

When he got there one of the metal plates covering the bottom had fallen off, and was partially melted and smoking. Looking underneath, he noticed that there was a small hole in one of the power packs, leaking acid. He cursed. Robbie never used anything particularly dangerous to power his machines - no radiation or strong chemicals, and he hardly every used batteries for this exact reason. His methods were electricity, combustion and steam and the like, some of which were a little old fashioned but more than effective enough. He'd disliked putting power packs into this particular machine, but with the time pressure he'd been under… for something like this it had to either be add batteries or figure out his own method of power and take three weeks at the least.

Well, now he was paying the price for his shoddy work. _Stupid._

The acid wasn’t particularly harmful - he may have used a battery, but he wouldn’t use a dangerous one - but since Robbie had suspected that it had been cracked since he'd dragged it out of the lair that morning - or even possibly since yesterday - the sheer length of time had allowed the weak acid to eat through the metal bottom of the machine. Acid was still acid though, and he couldn’t leave it like this. It was far too dangerous, _especially_ with kids around. The machine - and, until it was cleaned up, the area itself - was unsafe and unusable.

Everything had been for naught.

He shoved what was left of the panel back in place, cleaned up the acid that had leaked onto the floor and took the smouldering remains of his machine back down to his lair. He made sure to take the same route he'd come by in case he'd left a trail of acid on the way but there was very little, just a few sports here and there. He cleaned them up anyway, all the while thinking of ways to improve his mood before the big appointment tomorrow.

At the moment, he just wanted to crawl into a hole, or go at the walls of his lair with an angle grinder. Robbie didn’t know a lot about- about therapy, but he was pretty sure that that wasn’t the _best_ attitude to go in with. Not if you wanted it to go _well,_ anyway.

He'd been in an okay mood when he'd been for his appointment with Marsha, and look at how he'd been after _that._

 

* * *

 

Two hours later he finally flopped down into his chair, done.

He'd had to get on his car creeper and roll himself underneath the machine, tossing the panel that had been covering it into the corner for scrap once he'd cleaned the acid off it. Armed with thick gloves and a welding mask, he'd then taken out the battery before it ate through his floor or something and cleaned out the inside of the machine - he didn’t care how weak the acid was, he wasn’t leaving it in there. It was time consuming, but it had to be done. At least after he was finished, the machine sat smouldering in the corner of his lair, he then had the entire afternoon to relax and calm down and it gave him enough time to defrost a big party platter of profiteroles, which were delicious.

He settled down into his chair, tired and aching from having to work on things again after spending three days constantly building, and flicked on the tv.


	13. could be worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie's meeting with Marsha doesn't really go as planned, but it turns out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!! Robbie has a panic attack in this chapter! It's a relatively small one, but please take care while reading.

Robbie ended up being late for his meeting with Marsha.

It turned out that the machine from his scheme the day before had been smouldering for a reason other than just the initial acid leak. One of the wires on the inside had been partially melted, something which had escaped Robbie's notice, and had caused a small – thankfully – internal explosion, which had resulted in a lot of smoke, melted metal and a very small fire. He’d had to spend a good hour putting it out and checking the rest of the machine for more danger. He’d managed to take of some of the bigger sheets of metal off the outside and some of the more useful circuits and things for salvage while doing so, but the rest, he’d decided, was just going to be sold for scrap. It was more trouble than it was worth.

Sorting that had meant that everything else was put back an hour; it was only by skimping on his shower and makeup that he managed to reduce the lateness at all. Luckily, meeting at a café meant that he didn’t have to eat or drink, so he could forgo his usual morning coffees and skip breakfast completely, knowing he could grab something when he got there.

He had to walk to the bus-stop that was farther out of town, as that had more regular busses. The one in town wouldn’t have another buss passing through for another hour, so even though the walk felt like it was losing him more time, he reminded himself that it was actually saving it.

Robbie spent the entire bus ride tapping his feet nervously on the floor. He was too anxious to listen to music, terrified that he was going to be late. Five or so minuets wasn’t pleasant for him, but it was excusable. Any longer though and he ran the risk of unintentionally standing Marsha up – she could leave if he didn’t turn up soon enough. He– he _couldn’t_ go through with his appointment then, he just couldn’t, not after that bad of a mess up, he’d be far too frazzled and he knew it.

Then he’d have to re-schedule it, or worse, knowing him he wouldn’t have the confidence to do that; far too embarrassed about the reason why, and then he’d end up standing _Dr Jones_ up as well, which meant that he’d lose his appointments with her altogether because there’s no way she’d offer to see someone who couldn’t even be _bothered_ to turn up for her appointments, or even explain _why_ they couldn’t make it.

God, oh _God,_ he couldn’t breathe.

He gulped down harsh lungfulls of air, trying to get his breathing back in order and his heartrate back down. He didn’t care how much by, anything lower than racing would be fine. He couldn’t do this here, not on a bus, in public.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to take better, more controlled breaths. It didn’t work straight away, it never did, but he gripped the bar on the seat in front to ground himself and soon his breaths started to even out a little. Luckily, oh so luckily, there was no one else on the top level of the bus. He’d never been more thankful for putting his desire for isolation above his unease at the height.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time the bus approached his stop, he was almost completely calm again. He specifically didn’t look at his watch as he got off the bus, and vowed to buy a mobile phone before the week was out, no matter how bad he felt. He had to be able to warn Marsha if he was going to be late so that this never happened again – _if_ this ever happened again.

He was so scared that it wouldn’t.

Robbie could’ve sobbed when he arrived at the café to see Marsha sitting at one of the outside tables, a ginger and white Springer Spaniel laid at her feet as she sipped from a mug.

She perked up when she saw him, and the dog lifted its head from its crossed paws in response to its owner’s interest. Before she could speak however, Robbie skidded to a halt at the side of the table and gasped, “I am so, _so_ sorry I’m late.”

Marsha raised an eyebrow. “It’s alright, honestly Robbie–”

“I thought you would leave,” he blurted and Marsha shook her head.

“Even if you hadn’t come, I wouldn’t’ve left. You could’ve been late, so it’s best to hold out. And even if you just weren’t coming I still would’ve stayed – I have to finish my drink.” She raised her cup and winked at him, and Robbie let out a startled laugh.

“Oh thank _God,”_ he breathed, sinking into the chair opposite. “How late am I?” he asked.

“Only fifteen minutes or so,” she told him, and Robbie winced. She shrugged. “Could be worse.”

He didn’t see it that way.

“What happened anyway?” She asked him, “miss the bus?”

He shook his head. “No, I um – there was an… accident with something I was building. There… was a small fire,” he admitted, and Marsha choked on her drink.

“You’re _kidding_ me.”

“I wish I was,” Robbie sighed, “stupid temperamental machine…”

“Jeeze,” Marsha said, eyes wide. She took a large gulp of her drink to process what she’d just heard and Robbie just rested his head gently in his hands. “You look like you need a drink,” she stated after a few minutes and Robbie lifted his head.

“I do,” he told her, “I so, _so_ do.”

He got up and went inside to order the most high-sugar, high-caffeine hot chocolate mocha they had, which essentially turned out to be four cups of espresso mixed into a huge, over-syruped hot chocolate. He got whipped cream and sprinkles too, because he felt he deserved it.

When he came back, there was a dog in his seat.

“…Hello,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s Dixie,” Marsha introduced, “and I’ve been trying to stop her getting on your chair since you got up.”

“I think you lost that fight,” Robbie told her, reaching out to let the Spaniel sniff his hand.

“Har-de-har har,” Marsha said dryly.

Dixie licked Robbie’s hand and he tried to scoot her over a little so he could at least perch on the side, and Marsha hid a grin at the fact that he didn’t just make her get down.

“You can just push her off, you know,” she told him, but Robbie shook his head.

“No, I left the seat wide open. She’s done nothing wrong.”

Marsha rolled her eyes and groaned, “seriously,” she asked Dixie, “you’ve known him for all of two seconds and you’ve already got him wrapped around your little paw pad – how _do_ you do it?”

“Cuteness,” Robbie answered, shimmying onto the edge of the seat and sticking his free hand in the short fuzz on Dixie’s head. She squirmed a bit until she was mostly on Robbie’s lap, and the inventor sighed.

After a few minutes of petting, Marsha cleared her throat. “So… you feeling better now?”

Robbie winced. “Was I that bad?”

“You looked pretty frazzled when you got here,” Marsha admitted.

“I didn’t want to be late,” he told her, shrugging. He couldn't quite meet her eyes.

Marsha looked at him carefully over the rim of her mug. “...You _really_ didn’t want to be late."

Robbie didn't say anything, but his silence was answer enough." I- I'm getting a phone sometime this week," he said instead, "a mobile one. I'm starting to need it.”

Marsha almost choked on her drink. “You don’t have a mobile?" she asked in disbelief, “at _all?”_

Robbie flushed and looked to the pavement. “No."

"Sorry," Marsha winced, "I- I'm not judging, I promise, it's just rare these days. I was surprised, that’s all."

"It's alright," Robbie said. He sipped from his drink. Already he was starting to feel a little better; the caffeine and sugar rushing to clear his mind. "I don’t get many calls. Companies I work with either contact me with my landline or through email – I don't get many calls from other people. And calls I need to make myself can usually be done from home. I've never really needed things like texting or instant messenger.” He pulled his straw out of his takeaway cup and used it as a spoon for his whipped cream. “I do now though.”

“Well you have plenty of time after your appointment – as in, the days after. In all honesty, since you have a later one quite a few of the shops will be shut by then,” she gave him an apologetic look, "sorry.”

“It's fine,” Robbie waved her off and gave her a weak smile. “Comes with the appointment time. And I suspect I won't want to go buying phones after anyway.”

Marsha frowned slightly. “were you alright after our appointment the other day?”

He didn’t want to tell her but… he was scared she'd be able to tell he was lying. “No,” he told her shortly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered.

“No,” Robbie said immediately, embarrassed and angry with himself. There was silence for a few moments and he stuck the straw back into his drink and took a sip, one hand playing with the soft curly fur on Dixie’s ear. “I was having… second thoughts,” he said eventually.

“About the trust?” Marsha asked, “or a dog?”

“About things that were said,” he clarified.

_I don’t believe you really want to be my friend._

“Oh.” Marsha took a careful drink from her cup. “I can… go over some of those things if you'd like?”

_I don’t think you meant it. You were just being professional. Being kind._

“No thank you.” He couldn’t bear to tell her. It was pathetic.

"Alright," Marsha nodded. She smiled at him. "Do you know what kind of phone you want?"

Robbie grimaced. "No. there are… a lot."

Marsha snorted. "Oh yeah, there definitely are."

"I only need something to do the basics - messaging, calling, maybe internet access."

"Touch screen?"

Robbie's lip curled. "Maybe. I'm more used to working with keyboards but… with such a small screen, it could be useful."

"If my Grampa can work a touchscreen, you'll be fine," Marsha assured him dryly.

"Wow," Robbie said, "thanks."

"You're welcome."


End file.
